


Jimmy Page Session Man ~*~  A Fan Fiction ~*~

by Tangerine_Page



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23214274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangerine_Page/pseuds/Tangerine_Page
Summary: A Jimmy Page fan fiction set in the mid - late 1960s just prior to his Yardbird days when he was a hot young session guitarist. The main protagonist is a female session guitarist who goes by the name of Rowena, equally dedicated to her craft she is fighting an uphill gender battle in her pursuit of musical parity.She meets the delectable Mr Page under strained circumstances and they get off to a fiery start. The story unfolds as they learn more about one another and find out that their chemistry is undeniable.
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 44





	1. The Recording Studio

Late! Late! She was always running late.

Rowena ran down the steps, across the tiled path, through the rusting iron gate and across the brick pavement to where her beaten up white mini was parked. Her keys were jingling in a giant bunch as she searched frantically and awkwardly, single handedly for the correct one. A call-sheet clamped between her teeth, sloshing mug of coffee in one hand and electric guitar slung over her shoulder.

" _Gotcha_ ," she mumbled as the car key suddenly decided to make itself known to her searching fingers.

Shoving it into the lock she fumbled to open the door, rolling her eyes when she realised it wasn't locked in the first place. Setting her mug down on the kerbstone to free up a hand, she flung her cherry red telecaster on to the backseat. She winced apologetically as it bumped against the metal bodywork of the car, setting the strings jangling in protest in her haste to get going. Tucking a blanket around her pride and joy in a last attempt at making amends, she crumpled the call-sheet into the back pocket of her jeans and climbed across into the driver's seat.

" _If I ever manage to get paid the going rate I promise I will get you serviced,"_ she muttered patting the dashboard in attempt to coax the engine into life. The car started on the third attempt and she indicated to leave the parking bay.

Flicking the radio on Rowena cruised down the high street towards the studio, rubbing her hands together to get the blood going, leaving a vapour trail of mist from the rattling exhaust pipe in the cold May morning air.

The radio was tuned to one channel, some sort of FM pirate station that she had managed to pick up intermittently. It crackled out the most fantastic sounds of the 1960's era, blues and rock 'n' roll, music that was alive with feeling. Humming along to something she'd never heard before she pulled in to the rundown yard of the recording studio where a couple of other cars were already parked up.

Pushing open the door to the small reception area she saw the studio technician was sitting with his feet up on a small desk that was overflowing with sheet music and half dismantled electronic devices. He was always in the process of tweaking and combining electronic boxes, intent on discovering the next best effects pedal.

"Morning Mick," she chirped.

"Afternoon," he grinned looking up at her through spectacles and a dark mop of hair and taking his feet off the desk.

"I'm not that late!" She retorted glancing up at the studio clock mounted on the exposed brick wall and rolling her eyes. It seemed to be a recurring joke to comment on her timekeeping. "Anyway, it was a very last minute call in my defence."

"Can I fix you a coffee?" Mick asked feeling guilty about dragging her in last minute to cover a session for another musician who had called in sick.

Her mind flicked back to the coffee she'd managed to make before tearing out of her flat first thing that morning and again her eyes rolled silently as she recalled leaving the mug on the pavement. She hoped it would still be there when she got back. It had been a special handmade and beautifully glazed mug that a dear friend had thrown for her. That would teach her to take precious items out into the world.

"Yes that'd be great," she said, forcing her mind back into the present. "Are the group already in? I need to tune up."

She didn't wait for a response but continued on through to the main recording room. Glancing through a small glazed panel in the door she saw a couple of the group members standing with their guitars and headphones on, talking to the guys in the mixing booth, the drummer performing paradiddles to add to the general pre-session chaos. The red light wasn't on - they weren't recording so she slipped into the room to join in on the session.

"Hi, I'm your hired gun for the morning" she greeted the backs of the group.

They quickly spun around and looked her up and down - it was the late sixties and female session musicians were a rare breed. The drumsticks rolled to a stop. Rowena stood there, slight of frame, guitar slug backwards across her chest the headstock pointing to the floor. Her dark red hair scooped back messily into a knot, a few curls bouncing free following the morning rush, her green eyes flashed defiantly as she stood her ground, almost daring a comment to be issued so that she could retaliate.

"Well you're the first _bird_ that's ever played with the Yardbirds, so let's see if you can sing in tune," Keith laughed at his own joke, swinging his microphone around by the cable.

Rowena recognised the front man as she had seen the Yardbirds play before at a scruffy pub around the corner. They were good, she loved their sound, bluesy with a rock/ pop twist and a London art school swagger that made it somehow in a league of its own. She was secretly quite delighted at having the opportunity to session with them on a couple of tracks and decided to bite her tongue and let the comments roll off her.

She flipped the guitar so the light maple neck was in her left hand and donning a pair of massively oversized headphones she plugged into an electronic tuning device and began tweaking the strings into tune. Strumming through a quick chord progression to check the harmonies were all resonating - she still didn't trust the digital box that Mick had fashioned for her, over her own classically trained ears - she plugged into a nearby amp and picked out a quick bluesy lick to gain the band's attention, letting the headphones slide down around her neck.

"Ooh ok you've got our attention little lady! I think this session might just work," chimed the tall dark haired bass player. "We've been let down by our lead guitarist, to be honest he's gone AWOL and we are on a mega tight schedule to get this record pressed before we go on tour in a few weeks."

The band shot each other dark knowing looks and Rowena wondered what the undertones were, but chose to brush past it.

"No problem. What were you looking to lay down today?" She asked, noodling around on the fretboard, attempting to warm up her cold fingers.

"We've got a couple of numbers that need some more guitar fill on them, they need lifting. I'm fine on rhythm guitar I'm just no good at lead," a second guitarist, Chris, admitted. "We were going to get James Page in to session with us but can't get hold of him, he's a genius, probably one of the best session men we know."

Rowena had heard of James Page, he was indeed hot stuff on the session circuit, although he was often away touring with Neil Christian & the Crusaders so that had enabled Rowena to pick up a lot of the vacant slots in the studio. So their paths had yet to cross.

"Well, we've got you this morning and that will have to do," Keith cut in impatiently. "Shall we get this session started?" He seemed not to care too much about the guitar parts, his voice and blues harp were the stars of the show as far as he was concerned. "Let's jam Train Kept a Rollin' to kick off? Then we can lay down the guitar part when we've got a feel for how it might go."

"Sounds fine," Rowena said silently fingering the chords and counting the progressions in her head. She knew this number well and had bizarrely been playing around with some alternative guitar parts at home the other day in between session work, perhaps now would be a good time to show some apparently off the cuff creativity. She grinned to herself feeling devious but knowing what she had to offer was pretty cool.

"Looks like you know it!" Chris remarked as he watched her smiling, fingers fly around the positions.

"It's a great number," Rowena laughed. "Let's go!"

"One, two, one, two, three, four" Jim Mcarty counted in the beat and the session launched straight into the chugging rhythm that formed the main riff of the track.

Chris held a steady rhythm and Paul's bass walked around the notes laying down a solid backbone. Rowena tried a flurry of picked notes and half struck chords to play off the bass and rhythm, adding a sense of drive and urgency as Keith began his vocal torrent about a dame aboard a train. She glanced at the other two guitarists and noticed they were nodding and grinning in delight as the song continued to build to a climax.

The natural point for the instrumental broke and Keith let rip on the harp. Rowena continued her punctured staccato guitar part beneath the wailing tremolos and catching a glimpse from Chris that seemed to say _please do_ _something_ _to counter this honking harp!_ She bit her lower lip between her teeth, knocking the volume up on her guitar - she was being paid to be here so she may as well make her presence known - and started to play a guitar solo which melodic phrasing to rival the unstructured rasp of Keith's blues-wailing. The singer opened his eyes and shot a look of surprise over to his hired help. What was happening? The guitar was completely clashing and trying to take over his melody. But it sounded good, it sounded really good. He backed off a little as Rowena continued to create a soaring flurry of blues inspired licks that flowed up and down the fretboard as she bent and released the strings in an unholy manner that could only be described as the screaming of a train thundering down a track. She pulled the solo back into the main riff and the band settled back into the final groove, the hairs raised on the backs of all of their necks as the song came pounding to an end.

"Holy hell," said Mick after a few seconds of stunned silence, who had appeared at the door with a round of coffees. "You've got to get that recorded!"

Rowena heaved a sigh of relief and a wide grin broke across her face and the faces of the rest of the group, her nerves ebbing away and pure pleasure coursing through her veins. In that moment she wondered how anything could ever make her feel more rawly and deeply alive and satisfied as playing music.

~*~

The rest of the morning passed quickly, she laid down her guitar parts flawlessly, this was the trick of a good session musician - precision and getting it right in one take. In her early days in the studio nerves often got the better of her and there was nothing more humiliating than being the hired musician that fluffed the guitar lines, causing multiple retakes and providing the band with a target for their irritation.

The band were ecstatic by the end of the session.

"You should come and play live with us, we really are looking for a lead guitar, particularly with this tour coming up," Chris said as Rowena coiled her cables.

"Oh I don't know," said Keith. "I just don't know if that would work. She's a girl! We have sex appeal and a masculine gravitas to uphold," her added haughtily.

Chris' eyebrows shot up into his sandy coloured fringe, "and I thought we were all about the music?"

Rowena laughed, "yeh maybe I can jam with you on stage sometime, I'm pretty booked out with session work for the next few months." She sensed the awkwardness in the air emanating from the other members of the band, unsure about rocking the status quo of the all male line up of the Yardbirds. "Anyway, I've got to dash, I'm due in another studio across town half an hour ago!"

The band thanked her profusely as she took a small awkward bow, flashed a smile and left the room. Rowena got as far as reception before realising she'd left her crumpled call-sheet in the studio with all the details of this afternoon's session. Leaning her guitar against the desk and asking Mick to telephone ahead to Lemon Tree Studios to let them know she was running late, she spun on her heel and headed back to the recording room, pushing open the door to the sound of a heated argument that had broken out upon her departure.

"She's the best guitarist we've played with since Eric and you know it. You've just got to get over your ridiculous attitude and let her play. We're screwed with no lead..."

The creaking of the heavy studio door alerted the band to her presence and they looked shiftily between one another, throwing furtive glances as Rowena grabbed a sheet of paper from atop a small amp.

"Just forgot this," she said brightly her face flushing with embarrassment at the overheard conversation. "Sorry to interrupt, see you guys around."

She dashed out of the studio as fast as she could, her eyes squeezed tight, wishing she could just record her own music and not be faced with the same gender biased nonsense that seemed to hold her back at every session she seemed to play, regardless of how good she was. But it was this need to be better than all of her male counterparts that spurred her to practice harder, longer and more creatively, ultimately making her pretty much near the top of her studio game. Well almost the top she grimaced thinking about the band's adoration of the elusive James Page who tended to be everyone's first refusal. Strange she'd not bumped into him given the number of sessions they both seemed to be playing on.

Rowena glanced down at the call-sheet trying to familiarise herself with the requirements of the next session, some commercial she groaned inwardly. Often cringe-worthy, but the rate was usually ok, sometimes it really felt as though she was selling her soul to these awful excuses for music. Lost in thought she pushed open the double doors to reception and bumped straight into the warm shoulder of another musician entering the studio.

"Sorry!" She exclaimed. "I was in a complete world of my own."

"That's ok," a soft voice replied.

Rowena looked up into a pair of grey green eyes, a mass of dark curls and a beautiful smile that seemed intrigued by her presence. She stopped completely stock still, totally lost and absorbed in the moment. The warmth of where their shoulders had connected radiating across her chest to the quickening beat of her heart.

"Rowena.. Rowena!" Mick's voice cut through her daze. She shook her head and glanced over in his direction. "Lemon Tree are not impressed by your tardiness and want you there asap! They're threatening to axe your part and put in some synthesised keyboard instead."

"Oh bugger. Right I'm on it. I'm there," she flustered picking up the telecaster by the neck and striding towards the door. Suddenly remembering the tall dark stranger that had nearly knocked her to the ground she glanced back over her shoulder to see the ebony curls bobbing away down the corridor towards the recording room.

Mick caught her expression with an amused grin, "That was James Page. I'm surprised you two have never met! He's your stiffest competition."


	2. Backstage

After shooting him a look of amused contempt, Rowena stumbled out into the bright afternoon light and headed across town to lay down some instrumental for a commercial. She continued to read the call sheet over the steering wheel as she drove. It seemed to be a TV ad for a Men's Grooming Product featuring some football player. At least it sounded a bit more edgy than the cat food commercial she'd done for the same client last week.

The afternoon session passed quickly and without too much of a hitch and turned out to be more creative than she was anticipating. She got to play hammond organ and laid down some guitar riffs and bass to create a popular sounding laid back grooving blues track. It sounded great, although she had a sneaking suspicion that the lead guitar would be replaced by some harp playing, which she'd also recorded, but it sounded far too obvious, where as the guitar really added something fresh.

She continued to ponder this lack of input into the music production process as she drove home in the gathering dusk feeling weary and starving hungry as she realised yet again the work day had deprived her of eating anything. Pulling up outside her house and stepping onto the pavement she heard the sound of something tinkle and smash as her boot connected with an object that had been teetering on the edge of the kerbstone. Her mug! She cursed under her breath and felt around for the broken pieces, hoping she could somehow put them back together again.

Once again hands completely filled with instruments and cradling the broken mug, Rowena struggled through the front gate across the victorian tiled path and up the brick steps to the front door. The stained glass door panels let out a warm light into the porch indicating someone in the building was already home. Letting herself into the shared hallway and further into her one bed - one room flat she set the fragments of mug on the kitchen counter and flopped onto the large sofa that took up most of the living space, laying the telecaster down beside her. _I really must find the carry case,_ she thought, her fingers tracing the patterns of wear that befell the instrument as it went everywhere with her, more often than not slung over a shoulder or wrapped in a travel blanket.

Her body ached with tiredness, her head heavy and buzzing both with caffein and dehydration, a life lived on coffee couldn't be wholesome she mused. Massaging her temples she lay back and looked up to the high ceiling shrouded in shadow as the little bare-bulb side lamp cast a low glow across the old wooden boards of the floor. The phone trilled, breaking the silence. Groaning Rowena reached over to answer it, who was calling at this hour?

"Hello?" She said wearily.

"Hi Rowena, it's Mick, I've been trying to reach you all evening! I've left a load of messages on your machine, has it stopped working?"

Rowena hadn't actually had a chance to listen back to the make shift tape recorder that Mick had fashioned her from random bits of electronics and recording gear, out of frustration from never being able to get hold of her for last minute changes in studio scheduling. She was always in demand and seemed pretty elusive.

"I've been at Lemon Tree, you should've called me there!"

"Oh yeh, I didn't think," he faltered.

"What's up? Was there something wrong with this morning's recording, do you need me in for a late session? I really don't know if I'm up to it, it's been a ridiculously long day.." she rambled into the receiver, trailing off, hoping she wouldn't have to leave the soft comfort of her sofa.

"No no, the session was fine. In fact that's why I'm calling. The Yardbirds are playing a gig tonight and they want you on lead guitar with them on stage. They were really impressed with your playing this morning. I'm just locking up the studio and thought I'd give you one last try."

Rowena's brain started to fire, she would love to play live with the Yardbirds, she knew pretty much all of their numbers and she had promised herself to push outside her comfort blanket of the studio and try to play more live gigs, stand up in-front of people, give the musician thing a proper go in all its forms.

"Rowena, are you still there?"

"Yes, sorry I was just thinking."

"Well you'd better stop thinking and get down there, I kind of said you'd be there!" Mick said with forced joviality, though she could hear the trepidation in his voice.

"Mick! What if I'd already made plans?" She could also sense him rolling his eyes at that. "Never mind, as it is, I do not have plans for tonight."

"Great! So you'll be there?" Mick breathed a sigh of relief.

"Wherever there is!" Rowena laughed.

"Oh it's on your machine - Marquee Club, 165 Oxford Street."

Rowena scribbled the address down, even though she knew exactly where the venue was. Her stomach dropped, it was a serious venue for up and coming acts that was fast gaining a reputation.

"Just play your best tonight, you know you're amazing," Mick stammered tying to be encouraging. "At guitar I mean," he added awkwardly.

"Thanks for the pep talk. You'd better be there having put my neck on the line."

"Yes! If you want me to, I will, of course! Right well I'd better get going or we'll be late. Do you want me to pick you up, the parking is pretty hit and miss around there?"

"That would be great," Rowena replied, feeling the relief of being bought an extra 20 minutes to prepare herself for the impending gig.

"See you in half an hour. Don't forget to eat something," Mick said before hanging up.

Rowena's stomach lurched at the mention of food, she wasn't sure if she felt sick at the thought of live performance or hungry after a day of starvation. She decided to fix herself a light snack from the near non existent ingredients lurking in her fridge and at the back of the shelves in her cupboards, before hitting the shower and wondering what on earth she should wear tonight.

~*~

There was a light tapping on her bay window, fingertips just visible as they reached up to the lowest pane of glass from the overgrown garden below. Rowena flung open the sash, rubbing her lips together having just applied a slick of red lipstick.

"Hi," she called down to Mick who was fighting a rose bush that had entangled itself in his embroidered corduroy jacket. "Two seconds and I'll be out." She slammed down the sash without waiting for a response.

Grabbing her telecaster by the neck and throwing a handful of paraphernalia into a bag she glanced at herself in the full length mirror before heading out in the the spring evening. She looked pretty rock and roll she decided and unmistakably female, which set a grin of defiance about her pretty red lips as she recalled the sexist comments this morning from Keith. Well there was only one way to find out if chicks could rock the crowd or not and she was hoping beyond hope that the former was the case.

The ride to the club was mostly spent in silence. Rowena lost in thought about the daunting task ahead. Mick unable to read if she was pissed off with him for volunteering her to play tonight or whether he should try to make small talk. He decided to try his luck.

"It's only a couple of numbers they're on for," he started. "It should be a pretty short set. The club had an act cancel this afternoon so pulled The Yardbirds in pretty last minute for a small filler."

"Mmm," she responded distractedly, not really listening to what he was saying. She massaged her fingers, examining the raw tips after a heavy day of playing and silently cursed herself for taking a hot shower. What had she been thinking?! She would just have to suck it up and play until her fingers bled, she thought, chuckling at how melodramatic that sounded.

"Oh I'm glad you've cheered up!" Mick said glancing across at her. "I was so worried I'd seriously pissed you off. You know I thought this would be good for you. You should be on the stage. Your talent is really wasted on cat commercials."

Rowena let out a genuine laugh.

"Thanks Mick, I'm fine, really. I'm just nervous. Thank you for pushing me outside my comfort zone. I do appreciate it," she flashed him a warm smile and squeezed the hand he was resting on his knee.

Mick cleared his throat abruptly and swung the car in rather a maverick fashion into a loading bay outside the back of the club.

"Off you go then," he said shooing her out of the car. "I'll go and lose the motor and see you in there!"

"Right, ok, good," she said, getting out of the car with her guitar and bag of tricks. "I'll see you in a bit. Wish me luck!"

"Good luck! Not that you need it," he grinned.

Rowena entered the club, calling into the box office on the way.

"Hi," she said. "I'm actually here with The Yardbirds tonight."

The ticket guy looked her up and down, head cocked to one side in confusion. Rowena waved her guitar slightly in means of explanation. She'd known Pete for years as she was a regular at the Marquee, he'd stamped her hand and taken her money countless times before.

"Oh right, they didn't say. Sorry Rowena love I didn't recognise you! You look different," he said breaking into a smile of recognition and understanding.

"Ha! I had a shower and put on some make up if that what you mean," she said tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"You look smashing! Well, I mean I know you play sessions but didn't realise you'd taken to the stage. Good for you. I hope the audience are feeling accommodating tonight," he said and catching the look of dismay on her face continued "I'm sure it'll be great. The boys are backstage getting ready, I think they're on first. Go ahead. Go join them. And Rowena love, good luck!"

Rowena nodded her thanks and headed backstage to find the band.

A piece of paper with _Yardbirds_ scrawled messily across it was tacked to a tatty old door and Rowena knocked loudly before grasping the handle and entering the room, just as a "come in, it's open.." came from a voice that she now recognised so clearly as Keith's.

She stepped into the dressing room, more dressing cupboard, to see the band sitting around tuning up, smoking, a few empty beer bottles scattered across the floor.

"Rowena, hi!" Chris said, stepping forward to embrace her warmly, breaking her survey of the room. "What are you doing here? It's good to see you."

She frowned at him. "What do you mean what am I doing here? I had a call from the studio to say you wanted me to play guitar with you guys tonight!"

The band looked at one another.

"Is this a joke!?" Keith gawfed, draining the last of his beer. "We didn't send for you!"

Rowena felt her cheeks flush, had Mick set her up? What was going on?

"We've got Jimmy playing with us tonight," Chris explained. "He came back from tour late last night and joined us in the studio this afternoon. I don't know how you got a message that we were short of a guitarist, I'm so sorry you came all the way over here!"

"I requested her," came a soft voice from the back of the room.

Rowena craned her neck to see who had spoken, although she felt that she recognised the tone and her pulse quickened. A tall slim figure stood up and made his way over to where she was standing. She found herself once again looking up into a pair of deep grey green eyes. It was the musician that had bumped into her in the studio earlier that day, the one she had looked round for but who had disappeared in bounce of dark curls.

"You did?" she said, inadvertently taking a step back and coming up hard against the dressing room door, her eyes flashed up to meet his gaze.

"Yes," he said taking her guitar from her hand. "I heard you playing on the recording this morning and I had to meet you," he said. "I'm James, James Page," he held out his other hand.

"Hi James, Rowena," she said. Although he clearly seemed to know who she was she thought as she took his hand, feeling his long fingers and calloused skin.

"My friends call me Jimmy," he winked. "So, call me Jimmy."

"Well this is all very charming and not a bit strange," Keith interjected shoving Jimmy playfully. "But what exactly are you planning to do now, that you've called this poor girl out of bed under some false pretences."

Jimmy smirked, some private thoughts passing shadowily across his eyes.

"I've always wondered about dual lead guitar," he confessed. "How about it?"

Rowena shrugged, she was here now, she had psyched herself up and she may as well get up there and do it before the adrenaline left her and she vowed never to tread the boards again.

"Fine, let's do it," she said, slightly relieved that she could share the lead burden with someone and possibly just stand in the shadows slightly, avoiding the spotlight of centre stage. It was even beginning to sound like it could be fun.

A sound tech poked his head around the door.

"Five minutes and you're on boys," he said. Nodding in Rowena's direction, "evening miss."

The band scrabbled to don their stage shirts, grab their instruments and Rowena observed Jimmy tweaking his curls in the mirror, guitar slung over his back, headstock facing down. It was a sight that she found oddly familiar, until she realised with a gasp, that he reminder her of herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N *sigh* I've been saving this photo of Jimmy for this very moment <3
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, the next one is really fun as we see Rowena & Jimmy perform on stage together - I hope to upload it soon! Please feel free to leave me a comment or a 🖤 :) Tangerine Page x


	3. The Marquee Club

Rowena followed the band to the wings where the compere was announcing that evening’s entertainment. Chris pushed a set list into her hand. In all the drama that had ensued backstage she had completely forgotten to ask what they were playing. To her relief the list was all very familiar and they had jammed three or four of the tracks that morning.

“Thanks,” she whispered and Chris squeezed her arm and grinned back, clearly high on anticipation for the night ahead.

“Now please welcome, The Yardbirds!” Cried the compere, ushering the band onto the stage. As they strode on and plugged in their instruments. “Five Live Yardbirds!“ he cried miscounting the sixth newest member.

The crowd cheered and the band launched into their first number Too Much Monkey Business. Rowena started by tentatively striking the chords, unsure of whether she could really hear herself play or not. The acoustics of live performance and the band melding on stage with an energy far greater than anything she’d felt in the studio, the mixers and faders to balance and separate the parts distinctively not available in the live setting. Consequently the vocals were far too loud, the bass barely audible and the three guitars somehow muddied together and indistinct. She suddenly heard Jimmy’s guitar pick up and play a few bars of instrumental as Keith seemed to pause for breath. He sounded good she grinned, looking over at him, his curly head rocking to his own rhythm, the ruffled sleeves of his shirt gave him an air of virtuosity from a different age. His slightly heeled ankle boots affording another couple of inches of height to his already long legs. He had the essence of showmanship down, with the talent to back it. Lost in thought as the song came to an end, Rowena was taken aback when Jimmy turned to look her directly in the eye as he struck the final chords of the song. His whole body was grooving deeply to the beat, she felt her cheeks burn with the intensity of his gaze as the stage fell into blackness and the crowd cheered.

A couple of numbers later and both the crowd and Rowena had got into the swing of the set. She even stepped forward to play a few bars of instrumental, with Jimmy waving his hand to motion her to do so, he seemed to be enjoying sharing the stage with her. The crowd were intrigued by the red haired Yardbird and delighted at the treat of two accomplished session guitarists tearing up the usual formulaic nature of the set. As another number came to a close, there was barely time to pause for breath before the band were pushed into the next piece.

"This next one’s called Train Kept a Rollin’” Keith breathed into the microphone.

Rowena felt a jolt of excitement in the pit of her stomach, this had gone so well at the session this morning she couldn’t wait to try out her new guitar lines live, the crowd were certainly warming to the set. Just as she was poised to let out the bluesy wail of the the starting chord mimicking the horn of a train as it stood steaming in the station, Jimmy stepped forward and took the notes himself. Bending and clashing the strings just as she had done that morning in the studio, adding a flurry of triplets and vibrato, giving a real metallic sense of the anticipation of imminent departure. Before she could do anything the music got going into that familiar groove and Rowena forced her fingers into life, picking out the notes angrily, her blood felt on the verge of boiling.

The crowd cheered, clearly moved by the heavy sense of anticipation that had been set up in those opening lines of electric guitar. She couldn’t believe what had just happened, he had completely and unapologetically stolen her line. After what had been a long day struggling with all the frustrations that seemed to be placed in the way of her creativity she finally snapped. She wasn’t going to stand by and let this happen. Rowena stepped out of the shadows and forward, slightly closer to the edge of the stage than Jimmy. She pounded out the notes that lead and built to the instrumental and feeling her inhibitions smash to the ground she cranked up the volume on her guitar and went screaming into the solo, slightly ahead of the beat to cut James Page off before he could even get started.

Completely focused on the high end of the fretboard she played harder and louder than ever before, her anguish, pain and frustration pushing through every bend and strain of the strings, god this felt personal. The rest of the band played around her in full musical support, even Keith had momentarily stopped blasting out the repetitive notes of his usual harp solo. Un-contented to be pushed out of limelight Jimmy picked up on the solo with his own playing, his notes setting down a challenge to Rowena’s lead line. She felt his vibrations enter her consciousness and reacted, knowing exactly how this was going to play out, she finished up her melody and accepted the true sense of the dual for lead guitar. The crowd roared, blown away by Rowena’s solo and sensing some true competitive tension on stage as the two guitarists locked eyes.

~*~

“Why did you steal my lines?” Rowena fumed as she tore backstage, grabbing Jimmy’s leather clad arm and turning him to face her.

“I didn’t steal them, I just re-appropriated them,” he said his green eyes shining and a smirk spreading across his rosebud lips. “Yours were good, but I, well I made them better..”

“I can’t believe the audacity,” she said her fingernails digging into her own palms in anger. But to her immense frustration and annoyance she realised he was kind of right. He had taken her guitar part and done something to it. He’d twisted it and pushed it even further than she had dared to in the studio this morning. She let out a sigh, it was snakey, but it had been good. The sound was immense, the way their guitar parts had woven together, clashing, chiming, trying to outdo one another. It had been electric, literally.

“I’m sorry,” said Jimmy lowering his gaze, sensing how annoyed this tiny talented guitarist was, although Rowena thought he was possibly feigning some sense of remorse. “You should be flattered that I wanted to use your writing. Will you forgive me?”

Rowena scuffed her boot on the filthy backstage floor as she thought about her response.

“Maybe,” she replied, forcing the fury out of her veins and replacing it with icy calm. She’d come up against this sort of behaviour time and time again, having her ideas ripped off, being made to feel young, patronised and above all overwhelmingly, damningly female. She stalked off in search of the dressing room, hips swinging and guitar slung over her shoulder, holding it almost like a weapon. Her weapon and medium against the world that seemed hell bent on testing her.

Backstage the band were high on adrenaline, feeding off the electricity that Jimmy and Rowena had built, creating an intense feedback from the crowd. They cheered as she entered the dressing room. Keith grabbing her cheeks and kissing her roughly on the forehead, the others enveloping her in a hug that seemed to be jumping and pulsing around the room. She grinned as she broke free, feeling good about the set and good about live performance. Jimmy entered the room, she felt his presence as he touched her arm, turning her gently to face him.

“Let me take you for a drink,” he said. “I really am sorry. I got carried away.. I thought it would be fun.. I didn’t think it would upset you..” he trailed off.

Rowena had already forgiven him. His actions had sparked something deeply powerful within her, creating the rawest blues she’d ever played. It was the music of the Mississippi Delta, she felt their injustice as her own, she felt connected with what the anguish of what the blues really meant in her own bitter struggle against inequality. But for some cruel reason she wanted to make him sweat, to almost beg for her forgiveness, perhaps to make him see what it felt like to be on the other side. This was so unlike her, Jimmy seemed to stir feelings in her that she’d never really felt before, it felt unfamiliar and dangerous, she didn’t know if she liked it.

“I’m going for a drink with the boys,” she replied, gesturing to the band who were already knocking back warm bottled beer. “You should join us,” she added, feeling slightly cruel with her first remark.

“I’d love to,” he said looking deep into her eyes, smiling through his.

“Rowena.. Rowena!” An excited voice broke through the milieu of the dressing room. Mick had joined them backstage. “That was incredible! I can’t believe how amazing you were on stage! You are such a natural performer!”

He ran over to hug her, picking her off her feet and swinging her around, she threw her head back and laughed, hands clasped tightly behind Mick’s neck. Jimmy watched her, the curve of her neck as she arched back, her hair flying loose and so vibrant against the dim pallor of the backstage lighting, her slender body wrapped in frills and tight denim, he felt a pang of jealousy as Mick’s hands held her up by her tiny waist, she was so beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy is such a thieving devil, it’s a good job he’s cute or Rowena may have put her guitar through his head 😹 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, please feel free to leave me a comment or a🖤 :) Tangerine Page 🍊 x


	4. The Ship

The group set off into the cool night, round the corner to The Ship pub. It was rammed with gig goers, hot and bustling.

“I’ll get the first round!” Mick shouted, clearly delighted that he was out of the studio and on a night out with one of his rising star recording clients. He hadn’t paid his session musicians yet that week so felt a little flush with cash.

“Don’t spend all my wages on booze!” Rowena quipped.

Mick started as if she had been reading his thoughts, relaxing slightly as she caught her laughing out of the corner of his eye.

“She’s probably due a raise after today’s performance,” Keith said taking her by the waist and pulling her close to him. She could smell the beer on his breath mixed with cigarette smoke and some kind of pungent cologne wafting out from the unbuttoned shirt that was also soaked in drying sweat after the heavy performance on stage.

Rowena’s senses were heightened and she felt a wave of nausea wash over her as Keith’s musk hit the back of her throat, a bead of sweat rolling down her spine as the heat of the pub seemed to reach an intensity.

“You can come and help me carry them,” Mick retorted, perhaps sensing her discomfort, perhaps trying at a comeback to justify him spending what was probably not all entirely his own money.

Rowena slipped gratefully out from under Keith’s armpit and danced through the crowd behind Mick to the bar, shedding a few layers as she did so, the heat was clawing. Some of the gig goers recognised her from the Marquee and proceeded to pat her on the back, some of the hands straying lower, congratulating her performance, along with a smattering of comments that had little to do with her guitar playing ability. Rowena smiled and nodded her thanks, trying to hide behind her long red locks as she made her way to the bar, feeling shy and somewhat naked without her guitar or the dazzling lights of the stage and an elevated platform.

Mick wasn’t having much luck with getting served and Rowena willed him to hurry up so they could find a quiet corner to sit down for a while. Rowena felt a hand on her waist and was about to bat it away when she felt long, strong fingers apply a light pressure of greeting. Jimmy had joined them at the bar. Being taller and somehow quietly commanding he managed to order a double round before nodding the bartender towards Mick who had a fistful of notes to pick up the tab. Between the three of them they made their way back to the rest of the group armed with cold bottles of beer.

The background chatter of the pub and lively jukebox selections were making it very difficult to hold a conversation. Swigging down the cool beer, Rowena was being buffeted by passing customers, she swayed on her heeled boots and began to feel a little light headed. She dropped the glass bottle to the floor and began walking purposefully towards the exit, squeezing through the crowd until she managed to push open the heavy sticky door and gulp in a lungful of the cold night. She tottered over to a windowsill and perched on it, closing her eyes and letting the cool air bathe her over-heated body.

“Are you ok?” Came a softly reticent voice somewhere outside of the swaying world of her closed eyelids.

Rowena smiled. “I’m fine, just feeling a little woozy. I needed some air.”

She opened her eyes and saw Jimmy standing there a slight look of concern across his face. She was finally able to take him all in from head to toe - the dark curls scattered and framing his delicate, almost mischievous face, his green eyes that seemed more black in the darkness, his puckered pink lips that she remembered being comically contorted on stage as he coaxed a near primal melody from his guitar. Her eyes continued to wander down to his slim shoulders slightly stooped from hours spent bent over and nursing a guitar, further down across his ruffled shirt over which he wore a heavily embroidered floral jacket, the sleeves poking out of the ends flamboyantly. His shirt was still slightly tucked into his tight black jeans, his waist clasped in a large silver belt buckle, Rowena’s mind flitted to how scratched and bashed the back of his guitar would be from such an item. His long legs ended in a pair of leather ankle boots and Rowena noticed he was rocking slightly on his feet and he stepped closer to where she was sitting. She looked up at his face, registering the amusement on his lips and dancing around his eyes as he clocked her flagrantly checking him out. She laughed, the booze quashing any inhibition that this was potentially inappropriate behaviour and shivered. In the pub she’d stripped down to a loose white lace top, not quite an undergarment but not really substantial enough against the fresh spring night. Jimmy slipped out of his jacket and offered it to her. She pulled it gratefully around her shoulders and motioned for him to join her on the window sill. He did so.

Clearly at a loss of what to do with his fingers without his guitar Jimmy proceeded to roll a cigarette as he began to engage his fellow musician in conversation.

“So, tell me about yourself,” he started vaguely.

“What do you what to know?” She laughed at the wide openness of such a question.

“Everything,” he grinned looking at her with intrigue as he delicately licked the edge of the cigarette paper and rolled it dextrously to a close. “Well for starters, where did you learn to play like that and how did you get your hands on such a beautiful telecaster?”

“and how old are you?” He added furtively. “You look so young, but you’re really self-assured and quite frankly talented.”

“Well,” she smiled. “I’m classically trained. In more than one instrument,” she added as if to hammer home her musical experience. “And I’m glad you noticed my guitar, my father travels a lot for business and he bought it back from America. It was a gift from a client. Needless to say it is my pride and joy and to be honest I’m actually feeling a little separation anxiety knowing it’s backstage at the club, unattended.”

Jimmy had noticed her trying to hide the guitar under some other instruments and stray clothing before they left for the pub, after Chris had convinced her to leave it behind. He smiled to himself recognising a similar emotion that he held for his own guitars and he leaned forward to listen to Rowena more intently, letting her voice wash over him as he learned more and more about her. He offered the cigarette to her. She seemed uncertain but took it from him, inhaling deeply, fighting back the desire to cough as her eyes watered and the smoke seemed to fill her head with lightness. She exhaled, mopping her eyes with the corner of Jimmy’s jacket sleeve and letting out a small cough. This seemed to amuse Jimmy and catching her off guard he pressed her further.

“So how old are you then?”

“Old enough,” she laughed, a common defence of hers - not wishing to disclose her age as it always seemed to lead to misconceptions of her inexperience.

Jimmy’s smile deepened at her response and he leaned into her and began further interrogation.

He asked her about her session work and whether she wanted to become a full time musician and make a career out of it. He learnt that despite a clear passion and musical ability she was interested in pursuing other things, potentially the study of buildings and architecture. Everything he learnt about her surprised him, but more so from a sense that deep down he felt he already knew these things, he was surprised at how much he seemed to anticipate her responses, how similar they were in their likes, dislikes and outlook. He confided in her that he too was unsure about session music as a way forward/ for the future, he too found the lack of musical control frustrating, even though he had been pushing to work more and more on the production side, as he seemed to have a knack for it, he dropped modestly into the conversation. He had been deferring a place at art school for a couple of years and seemed to be dipping in and out of it, torn between his passions.

They shared another cigarette and sipped frequently from a hip flask that Jimmy had produced from an inside pocket of his coat. It had some sort of very strong tasting whiskey in it, but Rowena relished the heat as each mouthful burned a path down her throat, warming her insides.

“Well if you’re interested in architecture I’ve got a really great book at home that has some amazing work in it by William Burges. I think you’d find it really interesting,” Jimmy said.

Rowena noticed that everything he said was spoken so softly, it was as if he were talking so that only he could hear. So much so she found herself leaning towards him to catch the words that dropped from his lips before they disappeared on the breeze and she would never hear what he had to say. Somehow she needed to hear what he had to say. She was enthralled by his thoughts and questions, his mutterings and laughter, the whisky seeming to underline this fascination.

She found herself staring into his eyes as they spoke. Her mind drifting. She imagined kissing his lips and subconsciously licked hers as the idea came into her head.

Jimmy was telling Rowena about an old boat house on the river that he was looking after over the summer. He was trying to stay focused on her intellect and interest in architecture. But as he spoke he noticed her lick her lips and he felt his mind wandering. He thought about kissing her, about how sweet the whisky they had shared would taste from her lips.

As he continued to speak his words became a blur of velvety sound and she felt as if all she wanted to do was to reach out and touch every part of his beautiful face and to learn every inch of his soul.

Their intense connection was broken as the rest of the band spilled out of the pub, chatting loudly as they lit up cigarettes, clearly intoxicated, having sunk a fair few additional rounds whilst the session guitarists were getting to know one another.

Rowena leapt off the window sill, Jimmy’s jacket falling to the ground, her heart jolting as if her inner most thoughts had just been spoken aloud. Jimmy too sprung to his feet, feeling disconcertedly caught out.

Mick looked over at them, his face falling slightly.

“Rowena! We wondered where you two had got to!” He said forcing a smile.

“Oh I just needed some air,” she laughed lightly, seriously swaying on her feet by this point as the whiskey rushed around her veins and the profound almost unfounded depth of feeling she felt for Jimmy filling up her chest and consuming her brain.

~*~

Final last orders rang out in the pub and the group mooted some sort of after party, not willing to give up on the high just yet. A few of them had made some new female friends that seemed to be eager to take the night further, with other hangers-on swelling the numbers even more.

Rowena shook her booze addled mind slightly, the fact that she’d barely eaten all day was seriously contributing to her inability to hold her alcohol.

“I think I might head home,” she said, placing a hand to her temples, a weariness washing over her and making her feel heavy.

~*~

She lay on her bed in her nightshirt, the room spinning slightly as she drifted off to sleep, re-living the immense feeling of pleasure of being on stage, her anger at Jimmy stealing her riffs, the taste of the whisky still on her breath and the sensation of Jimmy’s lips on hers. It felt so real, but it hadn’t happened. She smiled falling into a deep and dream filled sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* I think Rowena is well and truly smitten - tbh who isn’t ..
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this dear readers.
> 
> Please feel free to leave me a comment I love to hear what you guys think :) Tangerine Page x


	5. White Summer

Rowena awoke to the phone ringing shrilly from the living room. She sat up slowly, pushing sleep from her eyes and clutching her head as something pounded viciously from within. She made her way to the phone, grabbing it from the cradle so as just to stop the ringing. She held it to her ear.

"Hello?" She said huskily, her own voice unrecognisable from the smoking, shouting and drinking of the night before.

"Rowena!" It was Mick. "Where the hell are you? You're booked in for a 10:30 session. The band have started recording, you'd better hurry if you're going to make it in time to lay down the guitar."

Shock and deep set professionalism made her sit bolt upright and she craned her neck to glimpse the time on the kitchen clock. 10:45. How had that happened. She was such a light sleeper. She usually awoke at the first light of dawn. Well that last part wasn't true but nonetheless a lie-in past 8:30 was unheard of for her.

"Mick! Stall them. I'm coming. I'm there. Bugger! I left my guitar at the Marquee. I'm going to be at least half an hour," she groaned as her brain began to fire staccato thoughts through the clearing haze of the night before.

There was no time to shower or eat or to make a coffee. She splashed some water on her face, ran her toothbrush over her teeth and pulled on a clean t-shirt that seemed long enough to be a dress, fashioned it with a belt, threw her bare feet into her ankle boots and winding a scarf around her neck headed out into the bright morning light. She dashed back inside to grab a pair of sunglasses and her car keys before haring off in the direction of Oxford Street, the wind whipping her hair through the open window and pulling her back from the edge of a hangover. She seemed to be getting away with it.

Pulling up to the rear of the club she dumped her car in the loading bay, flicked on the hazard lights and hoped a parking warden wouldn't be along with a wheel clamp.

~*~

"Pete, I need to pick up my guitar, I left it in the dressing room last night," she garbled to the man in the box office. "I'm SO late for a session, I just need to get back stage really quick!"

Pete chuckled at her. "It's open love, help yourself."

She thanked him profusely and turning on her heel marched toward the backstage area.

"I hear you were phenomenal last night," he called after her. "I knew you would be!"

She waved a hand in acknowledgement and thanks, without turning around or looking back. _How arrogant_ she thought laughing at her own gesture as she dropped her hand, pushing open the dressing room door, the Yardbirds sign now tattered and torn, barely clinging to it. She was still wearing her shades as she stepped into the dingy room and could hardly make out the pile of instruments in the corner. Sliding the glasses back onto her head, her curls becoming entangled and pushed back from her face, she saw a slim figure perched on the arm of the beaten up old sofa, finger picking a beautiful melody on her guitar. Her heart bounced, it was Jimmy.

"Hi," she said suddenly overwhelmed with shyness.

"Hi yourself," he said smiling. "I guess you've come for your baby?" He asked holding out the red telecaster to her.

"Yes, I mean no, well I mean carry on," she stammered. "It sounded beautiful, what was it?"

He smiled at her flustered appearance. She seemed to be wearing some kind of oversized t-shirt that she'd belted in an attempt to make it look more like a dress. It was incredibly short he noticed as her slim legs walked towards him.

"Its a folk song, I've been playing around with some parts for it," he said. Although he didn't continue to play. "How's your head feeling today, you knocked back a fair bit last night for someone so slight?" that grin playing about his mouth.

"Oh I've felt better," Rowena admitted unsure whether to join him on the sofa. Time seemed to stand still when she was around Jimmy, the sudden urgency to get to the studio melting away.

"Would you like to get a coffee?" He asked.

"I would love to," she replied taking the guitar from him. "But I was supposed to be in the studio nearly an hour ago. I'm unbelievably late. I slept so deeply and had the most vivid dreams."

"Oh! What did you dream?" Jimmy asked standing up from the sofa.

Rowena blushed as she recalled his face filling her sleep, pervading her subconscious.

"Oh, just nonsense," she said. "It was more colour.. and feeling.. than any real narrative.." she attempted to ad lib and sound vague.

Jimmy smiled. He loved her turn of phrase and the words she used to express herself, it was almost like poetry, as if she was being specifically cryptic to throw him off the scent of her real thoughts and emotions.

"I'm due at the studio this afternoon too," he said. "Mind if I share a ride with you?"

"Fine," she said. "We'd better hurry. My car's in the loading bay and probably within an inch of being clamped."

Grabbing their respective instruments, cables and pedals they headed out of the dark club and into the warm sunshine. Throwing their instruments onto the backseat, Rowena wrapped them in a blanket much to Jimmy's delight and he climbed into the passenger seat.

"You're going to have to let me in first," she said. "Otherwise I'll have to climb over you, the driver's door seems to be rusted shut again this morning."

Jimmy laughed and thought momentarily about letting her climb across him before getting out and allowing her in first. Wriggling and contorting she got into the driver's seat, Jimmy got back into the car taking a deep breath after witnessing a lot of thigh and potentially some bright red underwear in Rowena's moderately graceful slink across the seat and over the hand break. She started the car, the radio immediately crackling and popping into life.

"I love this station," Jimmy stated tweaking up the volume control.

Rowena grinned back at him as she began to navigate an intricate sequence of backstreets in a bid to beat the mid-morning traffic and to claw back some time that she had lost to her threatening hangover.

"How do you have such a good knowledge of the back streets of London?" Jimmy asked as she took a swift left, right and another left down some very narrow roads.

"I'm always late," she laughed. "I have a whole mental network of how to make up time between sessions! Surely you must find the same thing?"

"I don't drive," Jimmy admitted. "I have a motorbike, but tend to get cabs, or scam lifts from people," he added glancing slyly at Rowena.

She laughed, "That's rather some lifestyle you've become accustomed to, getting chauffeured around, I can't imagine it's sustainable on a session players wage?!"

"I manage," he mused, sensing that talking about his pay packet that was undoubtedly more than hers would be a sensitive subject. He glanced over at Rowena, taking in her bright red curls that were dancing in the wind from the open window, he couldn't see her eyes beneath the dark glasses but on her lips was a smile that he felt radiated beneath the reflective lenses.

Rowena sensed Jimmy's eyes on her and she subconsciously tweaked down the hem of her T-Shirt to cover more of her thigh. This motion had the opposite of the desired effect and only caused Jimmy to shift his gaze to her legs as she pumped the pedals, shifting gear, accelerating, breaking as if they were running some sort of backstreet rally.

"I love the character of the backstreets," Rowena chatted, partly to distract him. "Particularly down by the river, the old wharf buildings, they make for such brilliant spaces. Some of them are completely abandoned you know, I'd love to convert one into a flat with a studio and somewhere to draw. Amazing views over the river, a deli and coffee shop on the corner so I never have to drink the awful dull water that seems to come out of my stove top machine," she laughed, almost nervously thinking _why am I telling him all this?!_

Jimmy smiled as she revealed these thoughts to him and how visually she described everything, he could see why architecture and design were one of her great passions.

"You know, you'd love the place I'm staying in at the moment," Jimmy said, turning to her. "It's a little boat house on the river in Pangbourne. I'm actually house sitting for an old lady over the summer. There's a little launch and a dock under the house, you can pop out and get at least a pint of milk in the mornings. I'm not sure the Italian delis have made it as far out of the city yet."

"That sounds fantastic," Rowena replied, trying to imagine what the boathouse might look like perched on the riverside, it sounded pretty idyllic.

"Ooh we are here," she said swinging the car into the one remaining parking bay in the studio yard. "What's the time? Actually, never mind. I think I'd rather not know," she grimaced, motioning for Jimmy to get out so that she could reverse slink her way out too.

He did so, offering his hand to her. She took it and he pulled her from the car, she was so light, Jimmy thought as his long fingers wrapped around her wrist, overlapping themselves.

"How does someone with such slender little hands play such mean blues?" He asked, almost as if he were talking to himself.

Rowena looked at her hands that were being held by Jimmy's, they were slim and her wrists felt like they might snap on occasion, but she had long fingers and strong forearms from hours of playing.

"I might ask you the same thing," she grinned tracing her index finger along the palm and middle finger of Jimmy's still outstretched hand. He looked at her with amusement. She had pulled the sunglasses on top of her head, revealing her bright green eyes that seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, all traces of the night before swept away, she looked totally refreshed.

"Cheeky," he muttered, as she turned her back and delved into the back seats of the car, producing first Jimmy's and then her own guitar.

The musicians continued their chatter as they entered the studio reception.

"Good evening Rowena!" Mick quipped. "And would you like to explain what the hell has been keeping you all morning?!"

"Morning Mick," Jimmy said softly, stepping into the studio closely behind Rowena.

"Oh! I see," Mick stammered, shuffling some paper on his desk, a blush of crimson creeping up his neck.

Rowena registering Mick's obvious discomfort at the completely misread situation piped up, "I found Jimmy skulking around at the Marquee this morning when I went to pick up my guitar."

"Skulking?" Jimmy questioned quietly. "I'm not sure I'd say I was skulking."

Mick's shoulders dropped, as if some kind of tension had been released and he stopped his paper shuffling and got to his feet.

"Well what ever was going on, you are so incredibly late," Mick said ushering her toward the recording room.

"Who's fault is that?" Rowena flashed her eyes in mock anger at him. "It wasn't my idea to go out on a school night!"

She barely had time to glance back at Jimmy before she was roughly shoved into the recording room, but she caught his smile as he stood there with his guitar slung backwards over his chest, he looked so rock and roll, she thought.

~*~

The session passed quickly. The band's annoyance at her lateness quickly abated when Rowena began to play. She felt a strange, new sense of confidence following the success on stage the night before and she laid down her parts with an almost arrogance that felt really alien to her. She smiled to herself as she recognised this new sensation, before slipping into the mixing booth to listen back to the track, something that she never really did. It sounded good, but Rowena took it upon herself to casually make some suggestions on the instrumentation and arrangement on the rest of the piece that the band genuinely seemed to agree with and take on board. They decided to re-record some of their own parts and as they discussed this amongst themselves it became evident that they were re-appropriating her observations as their own ideas. This was inevitable, Rowena thought to herself as she packed up her kit, but this didn't damped her spirits over her sense of a small victory and taste of music production.

She slung her guitar over her shoulder, cables coiled around her forearm and headed to reception, a wave of hunger and tiredness hitting her simultaneously. As she entered the small space a beautiful melody hit her ears. Jimmy was sitting on a sofa picking away at his guitar, his eyes closed and he was gently rocking, she stood there for a moment watching him, his fingers flying between frets, the melody sounding like nothing she'd heard before. She was bemused by the richness of the sound. Jimmy heard her footsteps and opened his eyes, smiling at her as he continued to play.

"How..?" she asked, staring at the guitar neck, his fingers playing an open position, yet the melody seemed to be in a completely different, almost exotic key.

His playing slowed to a stop.

"I've been experimenting with different tunings," he said softly. Watching as Rowena's eyes grew wider with interest and excitement as she came over to where he was sitting.

"May I?" She asked, setting her Telecaster down and holding out her hands to receive Jimmy's guitar.

He smiled and passed her the instrument, shuffling up so that she could join him on the sofa. She strummed the open strings, her head tilted, trying to discern what he had re-tuned. Rowena placed her fingers where she had seen his and tentatively started plucking, mimicking the rhythm that Jimmy had used, but at a much slower tempo.

"Hey that's good," Jimmy said, leaning in to guide her fingers to the exact positions to replicate his sound. He felt her arms tense up as he touched her, but she soon relaxed as he showed her the part and she quickly picked it up, playing the main theme and gaining momentum as it became more familiar.

"I love it," she breathed as she opened her eyes, catching herself gently rocking as Jimmy had done. There was something powerful about this melody, that almost seem to take over her senses.

"I call it White Summer," he said. "You play it beautifully." He added tucking a curl behind Rowena's ear as it had dislodged and fallen over her eyes when she had become slightly lost in the music. He'd not met another guitar player who seemed to connect with music on this level, he could sense that she really felt what he felt in the way he watched her playing.

"Thank you," she smiled, blushing slightly at the compliment, "it's a beautiful piece. I've never heard those combinations before. I feel I'm missing out on something, on some source of musical inspiration" she laughed.

Jimmy took the guitar from her. "I have loads of records that you will love. You will hear all of these influences that I've blended into this piece. It's really quite an interesting way of composing," he trailed off, unsure whether he was going on too much. But Rowena looked completely enthralled, eager to be exposed to these secrets that he seemed to possess. Which in short was a very extensive record collection.

Rowena realised that the room had gone silent, each of them lost in their own thoughts and inner monologues.

"So how was your session?" She asked him, intent on breaking the silence. "I can't believe you're done so quickly!"

Jimmy shook his head gently, as if breaking out of some deep train of thought.

"Oh it was cancelled," he said.

"Oh how annoying!" she sympathised, understanding how cancelled sessions really upset the cashflow and scheduling of a freelance artist.

"Still got paid though," he grinned, holding up a brown envelope, presumably with a wodge of cash inside. "I always charge a cancellation fee. It's written into my small print. It's one of the things I've learnt from all this studio work, there's only one way to get commitment and that's by attaching a fee."

Rowena was incredulous, she couldn't imagine charging a cancellation fee. It was hard enough to get paid for sessions that she did do, let alone ones that never happened. She felt angry, angry at herself for being so naive in business, she worked so hard but it felt like an uphill battle for recognition, remuneration and to feel even remotely on an equal footing. Jimmy saw a darkness pass across Rowena's eyes as her brow knitted together in what he sensed was frustration. He hadn't meant to upset her and desperately wanted to lighten her mood.

"I can help you write something into your contract," Jimmy offered gently.

She looked at him and her scowl lifted. She was touched by his kindness, it seemed that he genuinely wanted to help her.

"Thanks, I might have to take you up on that. Perhaps when I come over to listen to your extensive record collection," she joked. "Anyway if you've been cancelled what are you still hanging around here for? Please don't tell me it's to scrounge a lift somewhere!?"

Jimmy laughed, "I actually listened in on some of your session, it was really good."

"I hope you weren't stealing more of my ideas?!" She retorted, recalling the _Train Kept a Rollin_ debacle of the night before.

"After last night I don't think I'd dare," he replied seriously. "I've taught you my secret tunings, so I feel we are even," he added smiling at her from beneath his dark ebony curls. "I thought we could go and get some dinner?" He asked, almost shyly.

Rowena felt her stomach rumble at the thought of food. Yet again the best part of the day had gone by and she hadn't managed to eat anything.

"I'm famished," she admitted. "That sounds like the best idea I've heard all day!"

Jimmy felt his confidence grow at her resounding acceptance of his invitation. "Great! I know a really excellent Italian place by the river, Giani does the best veggie food."

Rowena tilted her head to one side and looked at him with interest, "how did you know I'm vegetarian?" she asked.

"I didn't," he replied. "I was thinking of myself."

Rowena picked up her guitar and headed towards the car, intrigued to know how much more she had in common with this tall, dark and handsome guitarist _._


	6. Down by the River

They made their way to the riverfront. It turned out Jimmy was really terrible at giving directions, so they took the most convoluted route imaginable and by the time they'd found somewhere to park and strolled to the restaurant the springtime sun was beginning to set.

"Gianni!" Jimmy called in greeting as he entered the deli.

"Signore Jimmy," Gianni embraced the young man. "It's been a long time, I thought you'd forgotten us!"

"Mm yeh, I've been busy," he said motioning Rowena forward.

"Ah! Signorina!" Gianni said taking Rowena's hand and kissing it with a little bow. He flipped her hand over and stroked a finger across the calluses of her left finger tips. "Ah! A fellow musician, now I see why Signore Jimmy has been spending so much time in the studio," he winked.

Rowena began to protest, trying to assure Gianni that the two had only just met, it seemed to her that their friendship was being misread by everyone. But Jimmy placed a hand on the small of her back in reassurance and she let it go. Giani led them up some steps to a table in a secluded corner of the mezzanine that looked out over the river. He lit a tea light and put down a carafe of red wine and two tumblers.

"I will bring you food," he said, turning to Rowena, "signorina, carne?"

"Sin carne," Rowena responded, hardly knowing where this basic grasp of Italian had come from. Probably too many Saturday mornings spent drinking coffee in her local deli, subconsciously absorbing the language from the other locals buzzing in and out of the shop. Gianni looked impressed and with a twinkle in his eye gave Jimmy a nod of approval. Jimmy smiled to himself, pretending not to notice the Italian's gesture as he poured the wine into the glasses. The two raised their tumblers to one another, the glass gently clinking as they made eye contact.

"Salute," Rowena laughed.

"Salute," Jimmy responded, taking a sip and retaining eye contact.

Rowena broke away first, feeling the warmth of the wine spread to her cheeks, well at least she thought it was the wine, and she gazed out of the window at the electric lights coming on in the little bars & buildings up and down the river.

"So what made you turn veggie?" She asked him, eventually, emboldened by the wine to meet his gaze again.

"Oh, you know, meat is murder," he started jokily, "nah, I've got a mate Jeff, he's trying it, so I thought I'd give it a go too. It's ok, I'm not sure if it's making me feel a bit ill though," he laughed. "Or that might be the touring.. How about you?"

"I've been veggie since I was ten. Compassionate reasons too, I guess you could say," she laughed, running her finger around the rim of the tumbler, chasing a drip of wine that was threatening to run down the side of the glass. "It's a nightmare trying to go anywhere to eat though. Most places look at you as if you've got some sort of terminal illness if you say that you're vegetarian."

"I know what you mean. Although one day I can imagine that every restaurant will have a vegetarian menu, in fact I expect there will be restaurants that only serve vegetarian food. The way we live isn't sustainable," he mused.

Rowena laughed, imagining a scenario where diners might enquire about the non-vegetarian option Jimmy certainly had some interesting ideas.

Their food came, lots of little plates of antipasti, olives and chargrilled peppers, stuffed tomatoes and beans in a rich sauce. Followed by little bowls of pasta in a rich basil and olive oil sauce, topped with nuts and more fresh basil. The two of them picked away hungrily; demolishing the delicious morsels, enjoying the wine and each other's company.

Jimmy started to pour Rowena a second glass of wine

"Thanks Jimmy, I really shouldn't have any more, I've got to drive."

Jimmy chuckled, "that's true, you're a danger without adding alcohol to the mix."

She slapped at his arm playfully, "well if you don't enjoy my driving you are very welcome to walk next time," she said with mock indignation.

He drained the rest of the carafe into his own tumbler.

"hmm, I'll have to bring my motorbike in next time and return the favour," he said.

"I've never ridden a motorbike. It doesn't seem the most practical mode of transport for a session musician?"

"It's not," he laughed downing the wine. "That's why I don't often bring it to town."

"So do you think you'll join the Yardbirds on tour?" Rowena asked Jimmy, feeling a strange sense of rivalry build up in her chest. He looked at her and then dropped his gaze.

"No, I don't think it's the right thing for me to do at the moment," he said slowly, sensing that there was almost a challenge underlying the question. "I might suggest my friend Jeff though, he's between things at the moment and I think he could be a really good fit." He caught her eye and added quickly, "well, that's if you aren't thinking of joining them?"

Rowena pondered the question, she doubted whether the thought had seriously crossed Keith's mind to invite her to tour with them and in a bid to preserve her pride she replied, "No! No, I've got far too much on at the moment to take time out to go touring! I'd be interested to meet Jeff though, it sounds like we've got a lot in common."

A small look of horror passed over Jimmy's face at the thought of throwing both the Yardbirds and Rowena clearly Jeff's way. "Well yeh, he's ok, you might meet him sometime.." He said fiddling with his napkin, creating some sort of floppy origami flower. He handed the flower to Rowena and smiled awkwardly. "Sorry I don't know what's come over me, I think it might be the wine. Perhaps we should get some fresh air?"

Rowena smiled and took the flower from Jimmy's hand, agreeing that a walk along the river sounded like a good idea. Jimmy paid the bill with some money from his envelope and the two of them took some little china mugs filled with hot espresso coffee, and possibly a shot of Italian liquor, outside and sat on the wall overlooking the Thames. Rowena swung her legs gently as she sipped her coffee, the strong flavour awakening the senses that had been soothed by the food and the wine. She watched the little boats with their steaming lights on head down stream back to their ports for the night, or some larger cargo boats bound for a night passage out to sea.

"It's so beautiful in the city at night," she sighed as a feeling of the overwhelming vastness of the world and her tiny place in it at this precise moment in time swept over her.

"Mmm," Jimmy agreed, although his gaze did not follow hers out to the river. Rather it was focussed more in land. "Come to Pangbourne tomorrow," he said softly. "Let's spend the day together."

Rowena turned to him. He was sitting much closer to her than she realised, she felt the warmth from his body pervade the cool spring air and she could feel it radiate against her arm. She looked up at his smiling lips, but couldn't bring herself to look into his eyes as her heart was hammering too hard against her chest.

"Yeh, ok," she replied, suddenly incapable of forming words or even part of a sentence.

He smiled at her and hesitating, he leant in and patted her hand, "good!"

Rowena's heart leapt. She had been sure that he was going to kiss her. She felt a deep yearning for him to kiss her. But he hadn't and now she felt foolish. Foolish for even thinking it. She turned away from him and finished her coffee, was she too misreading this situation that was seeming to exist between them? She suddenly felt a deep wave of uneasy tiredness hit her, despite the strong coffee.

"I've got to go Jimmy," she said swinging her legs back over the wall and dropping down onto the pavement. "I suddenly feel absolutely shattered. It's been a pretty intense week."

Jimmy too jumped down off the wall, surprised at her abrupt change of mood, he felt that they had been relaxing into a moment, perhaps he had said something to upset her? He took her hand and tilted her chin up so that he could look at her face, she did look weary, but beautiful he smiled to himself.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he said.

"You don't have my number," she replied suspiciously.

"Au contraire," he winked, walking her to her car.

"Good night fair Rowena," he said kissing her hand, "until tomorrow."

"Good night James Page," she laughed. "I hope you find some way to get home!"

"I'm taking the train," he said, waiting for her to drive off safely before jogging in the direction of Paddington Station. It would have been a lot easier if she'd let me stay over, he thought to himself as his guitar slapped uncomfortably into his hip with every stride. But then again, he knew there was no way that would happen. She was an interesting one he thought as the lights of the station came into view in the distance. He was enjoying unwrapping her layers slowly, rather than devouring and discarding her as he had done with so many others. They always left him disappointed when they failed to reveal any deeper substance or delight.

~*~

Rowena's head hit the pillow with a mixture of confusion and weary happiness that night after she had washed the day out of her hair and from between her toes. She was enjoying getting to know James Page, but she wasn't sure if she was receiving his signals correctly. Some moments she felt so connected to him and at others it felt as if she was reading into it too much and becoming overly taken by his charm and intellect. She felt incredibly reticent about opening herself up to him and had a serious doubt in the back of her mind as to whether or not he would call her the next morning. But she set this doubt aside and snuggled into her duvet, the exotic melody that she had learned earlier that day filling her subconscious and for some strange reason a vision of Italian fruits filled her mind, she was sure she could smell the scent of tangerines as she drifted off to sleep. Engulfed by her own sensory thoughts and memory she slept deeply and dreamed passionately.


	7. Marshmellow & Leather

The early Saturday morning sun filtered through the open curtains and danced across Rowena’s chin, warming her skin and creeping across her cheek onto her eyelids as the sun began to rise. The brightness bringing her out of her dreams and into a new day of glorious possibilities. Her first thoughts were of Jimmy. She wondered if she would hear from him, she had no contact number so the ball was in his court. 

She busied herself around the apartment all morning, cleaning, tidying, throwing in and hanging out washing, sorting through paper work, organising her cable drawer. The clock hands ticked round to 12:30pm, she’d picked up the phone a handful of times over the course of the morning just to check there was a dial tone and that she hadn’t been cut off, but still she hadn’t heard from Jimmy. Her sunny disposition was in serious danger of becoming stormy and she cursed under her breath at the thought of becoming _this_ wound up over a _boy_. She decided to take action and threw on a pair of shorts and her training shoes and headed outside for a run. There was nothing better than pounding the pavements to vent any frustration and to release some much needed endorphins, particularly after a week of being cooped up in the studio. Rowena jogged off down the road and took up a familiar route through the neighbourhood park, knocking out a few miles in the sunshine, repeating a mantra of _it’s only a boy, it’s only a boy_ , each time her feet hit the ground. She reminded herself why she preferred to stay single and that any time any sort of romance flickered into her life it seemed to derail her and mess with her head, her plans and her focus. She resolved there and then to remain friends with James Page and not let the butterflies that seemed to be residing in her stomach, threatening to beat their wings at the mere thought of him, dictate her feelings and actions. She skipped down the road back to her flat, four and a half miles down, feeling resolved and satisfied. Her cheeks rosy from the exertion, but her mind and body feeling strong.

Fishing the keys from her pocket she tripped down the path to her front door, not noticing the motorcycle parked on the pavement outside her front gate.

“I wondered how you stayed so fit,” came a familiar voice from somewhere within the tangled weeds of the front garden. Rowena whipped around to see Jimmy sitting on the low wall observing her from his diminished angle. He was clad in motorcycle leathers and his hair was tangled with roses from the unruly flowerbed.

“Jimmy!” she said surprised, suddenly very aware of her flushed cheeks and the shortness of the shorts that she was wearing - they used to be her gym kit for school sports but that now she came to think of it probably weren’t appropriate for jogging around the streets of London - and which had suddenly seemed intent on riding up her thighs at that moment. “What the hell are you doing here?” She demanded, coming to her senses, remembering her resolve and wondering why he hadn’t called all morning.

Jimmy stood up and walked over to her.

“Good morning to you too,” he said pulling her into a friendly embrace. She inhaled the deep scent of leather from his clothing, mixed with a sweetness of possibly marshmallows she thought, inhaling more deeply. “Are you sniffing me?!” He asked in amusement.

“Mmm,” she said softly, “you smell like marshmallows and perhaps ever so slightly bonfire, toasted marshme…” Rowena gasped and stepped backward, completely caught out. Jimmy seemed beside himself with a wide grin that threatened to spill into laughter, but catching how mortified she looked he quickly changed the subject.

“You won’t believe what happened to me last night,” he said.

“Oh yeh?” She asked raising an eyebrow and walking steadily up the steps to her flat, feet completely planted on the ground and head out of the fluffy marshmallow scented clouds. She felt some tall story about to be spun her way.

“I fell asleep on the train,” he laughed, pausing. “I missed my stop and had to wait for the first train this morning,” another slow breath. “By the time I got home it was 6:30am and I fell into a deep sleep. I didn’t even undress first,” he admitted as though this were highly irregular. “When I woke up it was gone midday. I tried to call..” he continued, tilting his head to one side, trying to gauge whether or not Rowena was buying his tale. “I left you half a dozen messages before jumping on my motorbike and tearing across town.. I thought you might be angry with me for not calling sooner,” he finished up quietly, his head still tilted to one side as he looked at her imploringly. Rowena was slightly taken aback, she hadn’t heard Jimmy string so many sentences together in one breath before.

Rowena laughed, “honestly Jimmy I hadn’t given it a second thought,” she replied lightly. Smiling wryly to herself as she unlocked the front door, thinking of the storm of domestic energy she had whipped up earlier that morning as she agonising over whether or not the phone would ring. It would seem that he _had_ called during her obsessive checking of the dial tone.

Jimmy looked slightly relieved and slightly crestfallen, had she really not thought he would call, or had she forgotten they had planned to spend the day together. He walked slowly up the steps to join her and entered the tiny world of Rowena’s flat. He soon forgot his anguish and began to take in all the details. The place was spotlessly clean but there were piles of books, ornaments, sheet-music, musical instruments and records stacked and clustered around the living room. Exotic looking plants in beautifully hand turned pots with delicate glazes were perched on window sills and across the kitchen counter. Rowena noticed him taking it all in and she flicked on the kettle.

“Help yourself to tea,” she said. “I defiantly need to shower!”

Jimmy heard Rowena singing to herself in the shower as he made two mugs of piping hot tea. He smiled as he thought of her washing her long red hair, lathering it with the scent of roses and honey. She had a good voice, much better than his he thought, casting his mind back to a recent recording he’d done where he’d been convinced into playing and singing everything on the record bar the drums. That was a misguided project he grimaced as he stirred milk into the mugs.

Taking his to the sofa, leaving the other one on the draining board for Rowena, he settled back against the soft cushions and looked up and around the room, taking in more detail than his first cursory glance. The walls were painted dark grey and crammed with framed art work and photography. The smiling faces of strangers, younger versions of Rowena with friends, with family, alone. Landscapes, buildings, cities and deeply intense colourised macro details contrasted across the walls. He began to add to the layers of knowledge he had already obtained about Rowena, filling in more gaps, but simultaneously bursting with dozens of questions to ask her. His thoughts were punctured as Rowena entered the room, her damp curls falling around her shoulders, the water creating see-though patches on her thin white t-shirt that was tucked into her tight black jeans. She grabbed her tea from the kitchen and came to join him on the sofa, her bare toes were painted in a deep red varnish and he thought her feet looked so pretty.

“So what’s the plan?” She smiled at him as she blew gently on the tea cup, taking a sip.

He turned to her, resting an arm on the back of the sofa, inadvertently glancing down as the dampness from her hair had seeped across her right breast causing the embroidered lace of her bra to become visible. He took a huge gulp of scaldingly hot tea and fought to keep his eyes from watering and he smoothly tried to convey what he had in mind.

“Are you ok?” She asked looking at his reddening face with slight concern.

“Yes, fine,” he breathed, trying to allow some cool air to flood his throat. “The tea’s hot!”

Rowena followed his gaze down to her chest and gasped as she saw what he had been looking at. Feeling mortified she leapt up from her seat, her tea threatening to escape the edges of the mug. She grabbed an old knitted sweater that was draped across the back of the sofa and pulled it roughly over her head feeling calmer that she was no longer on show.

She laughed awkwardly, relaxing when Jimmy swiftly changed the subject, although she swore she could see a pink blush highlighting his pale cheeks.

“How do you feel about riding a motorbike?” He asked. “I’ve got to pay back my chauffeuring debt after I got us lost in the back streets of London last night!”

Rowena’s heart skipped with excitement, tinged with a sense of danger at the thought of riding behind Jimmy on his motorbike.

“Sure! Let’s do it,” she said, grabbing her keys, leaving her tea abandoned and gesturing Jimmy to the door.

~*~

Jimmy handed Rowena a spare helmet, that he’d bought for his ex-girlfriend as she refused to ride without one. After she had brutally ended things with him and broken his heart he had kept the helmet as a painful but keen reminder of her. Rowena pulled a long blond hair from the inside of the helmet and let it fall to the pavement as she released her thumb and forefinger from it, eyeballing Jimmy as she did so. He shifted on his feet and a heaviness seemed to lift from his shoulders as if some invisible weight had been lifted and a past sorrow had been put to rest. Smiling at her gaze he swung his long leather clad leg over the seat of the bike and put the key into the ignition.

“Let me start her up, then you can get on,” he said putting his foot on the kick start and grasping the handle bars. Straddling the bike with his left foot on the pavement he kicked it into life and put some revs through the engine with a twist of the throttle in his right hand. A rough purr issued from the bike and Rowena could smell the mixture of petrol and oil in the air. Jimmy rolled the bike off its stand and glanced back at her, she took this as her cue to join him and she climbed onto the bike using Jimmy’s shoulder’s for support.

“Hold on to me,” Jimmy’s soft voice attempted to shout above the rattle of the bike.

Rowena did as she was told and put her hands politely on either side of Jimmy’s waist. Jimmy checked his mirror before pulling off the pavement and onto the road. He trickled his way through the busy streets, Rowena felt comfortable at the slow pace, enjoying being a passenger for a change, she held on loosely to Jimmy as she sat up and watched the buildings and the people and the other cars go by. Once they were clear of the city Jimmy revved the throttle again and said something that was lost in the rumble.

“ _Hold on_ …”

“What?” She asked, his voice completely muffled by the thick padding of the motorcycle helmet.

Then with no further warning Jimmy opened up the engine as they hit the more open countryside and the bike lurched off at a stomach flipping speed. Rowena screamed, the wind rushing out of her lungs and her stomach rising to meet her mouth. All sense of physical boundaries forgotten she wrapped her arms around Jimmy’s waist and hung on for what she felt was dear life.

Jimmy grinned to himself as the bike shuddered beneath them, he felt Rowena’s thighs grasp him from either side and he felt her fear as she clutched at his chest. It never failed to bring a sense of closeness he smirked as he looked into his rear view mirror at the tangle of red curls that were flying wildly from beneath the helmet behind him. He slowed the pace and felt Rowena relax slightly, her warmth seeping into him as she held onto him. She rested her head on his back and watched the lush green fields and hedge rows slip by as they travelled together in companionable silence against the roar of the motorbike towards Jimmy’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter(s) take(s) place at Jimmy’s sacred Pangbourne Boathouse - I’m not sure when this will be ready.. She’s a trixy one to write. Anyhoo let me know if you like this chapter, leave me a comment, I love to hear from you :) Tangerine Page 🍊 x


	8. Pangbourne

Jimmy helped Rowena off the bike as she stepped shakily to the ground, her legs somewhat trembling beneath her after the long ride to Pangbourne. She realised she had been clenching them in fear pretty much the whole way, coupled with her four mile run that morning she was ready for a comfortable seat that wasn’t intent on rattling her bones.

She looked up at the entrance of the boat house with its steeply pitched roof and decoratively scalloped bargeboards, it reminded her of a gingerbread house or a Swiss mountain chalet. The windows were set into dark timber frames and the white painted walls looked as though they could do with some attention. Jimmy smiled as he watched Rowena drinking in the details of his new summer home.

“Honestly, wait until you see inside, this is probably the least interesting part of the whole house,” Jimmy said taking her hand and leading her to the front door.

The entrance to the boathouse seemed dark with the richness of mahogany furniture and the low beams that ran across the ceiling, Jimmy pulled them through the narrow hallway and pushed open the door to the living room. The contrast was blinding, a space that was so intensely lit by the daylight that was spilling in from the floor to ceiling windows opening out onto the riverside beyond. Rowena looked around at the rather cluttered space, it was teeming with floral patterning in every colour and design. Floral upholstery, flowers embroidered into the carpet, a wallpaper of rose vines lined and contained the perimeter of the room and a textured ceiling that almost looked like quilting added to the general bombardment of texture and pattern.

Before she had time to take in the rest of the assorted furniture, Jimmy had picked up a battered looking steel strung acoustic and a glass slide before heading out onto the deck. Rowena followed him, her eyes squinted against the even brighter light that was bouncing off the gently rippling water. Shards of reflected sunshine were being continuously dashed against the underside of the lean-to roof that covered the deck. The light racing up and down the white weatherboarded walls, coupled with the rushing and glugging of the water moving beneath her feet made Rowena’s senses feel quite overwhelmed. She sat down suddenly onto one of the timber slatted sun-loungers and waited for her brain to catch up with what her eyes and ears were processing.

Jimmy meanwhile had perched himself on the flimsy looking rail that ran around the perimeter and he began to re-tune his guitar. He glanced up to smile at Rowena as she sat on the sun-lounger watching him with intrigue. Becoming more accustomed to the warmth of the sun splashing onto her body, she felt less giddy and as Jimmy gently tweaked the tuning heads she thought back to the sounds of _White Summer_ that he had shared with her yesterday in the studio. She had never met someone that was so interested in alternate tunings. Once Jimmy was satisfied he slid the glass tube onto his ring finger of his left hand and proceeded to press down onto the strings of the guitar, starting up a bouncing strumming rhythm with his right hand. Rowena watched as he kept pulling the slide up to the twelfth fret, oscillating it across the strings as he played, creating a building urgency in the tone of the guitar. After a few measures of this repeated action he let the melody break and released the slide back down the neck to play a series of open chords and broken arpeggios. Rowena tapped her foot and bobbed her head to the momentum that Jimmy was setting up in the piece, it felt strangely familiar but she couldn’t place where she’d heard it before. It had a real bluesy flow to it she thought as she looked past Jimmy to the river beyond, her eyes now adjusted to the brightness, the water itself bubbling and gurgling as it travelled on under the deck.

“Travelling Riverside Blues!” She suddenly exclaimed, causing Jimmy to drop the slide in surprise. He slammed a heeled boot on top of the glass object as it threatened to roll off the deck and into the murky green water below. As he bent down to retrieve it, Rowena wondered if he had been annoyed at her outburst, but as he straightened up she saw his face had broken into a wide grin. She laughed and shook back her curls, pleased with her own ability to hear the Mississippi Delta through Jimmy’s Thames based arrangement.

“Very good ears Miss.. Rowena,” Jimmy said almost deviously, his smile radiating warmth into his tone. “I’ve been playing around with Robert Johnson’s original piece. There’s something about this boat house and its proximity to the water that has provided such an interesting tempo for my arrangement..” he trailed off, his thoughts preoccupying him as he fingered a potential new run across the fretboard.

Rowena wondered if Jimmy had done much writing. Of course as a session guitarist there was a lot of improvisation as part of the studio work, often having to make up music on the spot; but this was usually to a prescribed formula, 12 bars of instrumental to be filled, a specific sound or style to be emulated. She was intrigued to know what Jimmy would write, what sounds he would evoke, if left to run wild.

“I’ve started writing a lot recently,” Jimmy said, looking up at her again, almost as if he had heard her thoughts aloud. “I’ve got an idea for a tremendous new sound. I want the guitar to be the centrepiece, it is such a wonderfully diverse instrument, it is capable of so much more than the rock and roll jingles that get pushed around in the studio week upon week.”

She could sense his frustration with the scene and the status quo of his position as a session man.

“I’ll show you later, if you like?” He said shyly, standing up off the rail and walking over to her. He held out the hand that wasn’t hold his guitar and she placed her smaller one into his palm and watched as his long fingers closed over hers. With almost an indiscernible force he bought her to her feet and with the lightest of footfalls led her back indoors.

~*~

Jimmy proceeded to make tea for them both and gestured for Rowena to take a look around the living room, which was a bizarrely eclectic mix of embroidered covered cushions, garish plastic plants in pots and other assorted kitsch paraphernalia, all muddled in with stacks of records, books and canvases. It seemed that Jimmy had almost moved in here, although his possessions jarred somewhat with the aesthetic of the boat house’s elderly proprietor.

“I’ve bought a lot of my possession here,” he admitted handing Rowena a steaming cup of tea. “I was sharing digs with some other students from my art school. I jumped at the chance to stay here for the summer. it’s such a beautiful place and, well I’m sure I don’t have to tell you about the extortionate London rents.. I’m really hoping to save up this summer..” he finished.

Setting his tea on a side table he crouched over a stack of records that were leaning against the bookshelf, his long fingers tracing over the spines as he sought something specific. Locating the record he desired, he slipped it out of its sleeve as he walked over to the turntable. Setting the table in motion Jimmy dropped the record onto the revolving disc and gently placed the needle onto the outer groove with an action so smooth that he must have made it a thousand times before. A series of pops and crackles issued forth from the large speakers that flanked the machine and before long a beautiful fingerpicked acoustic melody came forth. Without warning a high pitched female voice set up a single melody, filled with vibrato and tinged with sadness. Rowena hugged her legs to her chest as she sat on the floor, her eyes closed as she listened to the record. She often felt as though she could _see_ music, it conjured up visions in her minds eye; a pine forest bathed in cold moonlight, a long winding road leading somewhere, but where, she wondered? Hopefully away from the mournful sense of loss and longing that the music was stirring inside her.

Jimmy watched Rowena’s reaction to the music. She looked sorrowful, her delicate features knitted as they drew down against the melody.

She opened her eyelids as the song came to a close and looked up at Jimmy through a sheen of tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks.

“That was.. that was..” she stumbled to get the words out to convey the deep emotion that she felt.

“..haunting?” they both said at the same time.

As they locked eyes Rowena felt a deep uneasiness stirring within her. She had never been with someone that seemed to feel her thoughts as their own, able to read her mind and almost touch her emotions. A sudden gust of spring wind pushed open the back door and a cold blast of air swept through the sitting room, causing sheet music to flutter and the arm of the record to scratch across the vinyl and cease any further sounds of music.

Jimmy leapt up to close the door, breaking their eye contact and Rowena shuddered and wrapped her hands around the warmth of the tea cup.

“What was that?” Rowena asked.

“It’s the May winds,” Jimmy replied, looking out of the window almost suspiciously at the gathering darkness. “I sometimes feel that this place is, oh, I don’t know.. perhaps that I’m not alone..” He trailed off, not wishing to come across as particularly in tune with the supernatural.

Rowena laughed, her voice breaking the strange atmosphere that had been set up in the boathouse. “No I meant who was singing, on the record?”

“Oh!” Jimmy laughed, feeling a little foolish. “That was Joan Baez, the song is a traditional folk song I believe. It’s called _Babe I’m Gonna Leave You_.”

“Her voice is amazing,” Rowena sighed. “I wish I could sing like that.”

“You have a lovely voice,” Jimmy assured her, catching the quizzical look on her face. “Oh! I.. heard you in the shower this morning,” he admitted, feeling as though he was crossing an invisible line of privacy.

Rowena blushed and dropped her gaze, feeling a strange intimacy at the thought of Jimmy listening to her as she bathed. She always felt in her own little world, encased under the warm cascades of water, creating her little melodies and languishing in the acoustics that only she could hear.

She closed her eyes again, thinking that she had always been alone in this little world, though suddenly now a pair of grey green eyes danced in the warm darkness of her mind, sharing the torrent with her, long fingers slipping through her ribbons of deep red hair, a counter melody to hers was being issued from the eyes that belong to a face, a smile, a mass of tumbling dark hair. Rosebud lips that joined with hers and limbs that entwined, a melody soaring so high that she could barely make it out any more as the vision merged, becoming water, slipping away, sliding down the tiled floor towards a dark, dark hole.

Rowena woke with a start. She opened her eyes, but it was dark, she was lying down, covered by a heavy knitted blanket. As she blinked she noticed that candle light surrounded her and she heard the quiet plucking of strings coming from the darkness of the room. She must have fallen asleep she thought sitting up groggily, wondering what the strange dream was that she had been having, though as the melody played on she felt all remnants of it slipping away.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Jimmy asked, silencing his strings.

“No, not at all,” Rowena said. “I can’t believe I fell asleep. I think the past few weeks in the studio have really caught up with me. Not to mention the exhausting fear of imminent death on the ride over here,” she mocked playfully.

Jimmy put down the guitar and padded over to the sofa. Carefully sitting behind her he began to gently rub her shoulders, helping to ease out the knotted tension that he could feel beneath his fingertips. Rowena hummed under his touch, feeling her muscles relax and her body melt against his chest.

“What were you playing just now?” she asked him. “It sounded almost flamenco?”

“That’s interesting you should say that,” Jimmy smiled as he continued to work circles around her slender shoulders. “It is in-fact, at the moment, almost a bolero, but based around the chord progression of Babe I’m Gonna Leave you. It’s part of the writing that I was telling you about.”

“Yes, I thought I recognised it, you were playing it in the dressing room at the Marquee yesterday morning when I came to pick up my guitar? Only is sounds different now,” she puzzled out loud.

“You’re right,” he grinned, once again at her musical perception. “I find it fascinating to fuse different styles of music. I’ve found that it is possible to almost get something completely new, but really all one has done is to take some very old folk music and combined it with something else that is perhaps equally as old, but from a different quarter of the world.”

Rowena smiled at the brilliance of Jimmy’s mind as he articulated his thoughts on music fusion. She thought about it within the context of her own work. Perhaps she had taken it for granted, the borrowing of blues music and melding with rock & roll and beat poetry to create the London Art Scene music, which of course could be seen as a fusion of sorts.

As she pondered these thoughts she felt Jimmy’s hands sweep over her upper arms, massaging her biceps and caressing lower to her forearms that were tight from too much intense guitar playing. She let out another contented hum, which was accompanied by a growl from her stomach. Hungry. Again. Jimmy had noticed the growl and chuckled to himself.

“Hungry again Miss Rowena?” he asked twisting to face her.

“It does sound like it,” she replied apologetically. “I hardly find time to eat in the week between sessions, so I think I’m paying for it now.”

She untangled herself from Jimmy’s long limbs that had managed to somehow stealthily surround her and helped him up from the sofa.

“Shall we see if the state of your cupboards are on par with mine?” She asked teasingly, leading him towards the kitchen.

Jimmy remembered the empty cupboards that he had seen in Rowena’s flat earlier that day as he had searched for the tea bags. He felt that his own eating habits were not far off hers and it was no surprise that they were both a little run ragged. Jimmy felt a small wave of embarrassment, particularly as he had invited Rowena over to spend the day, but without thinking to provide any sustenance greater than a cup of tea. The cupboards revealed an open packet of biscuits, a series of tinned items whose labels had mostly peeled off, rendering the contents inside a mystery and a couple of bottles of red wine and whiskey. A bottle of whiskey and a few crackers were usually enough to keep him and Jeff going when they decided on an impromptu late night jam. Rowena turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Ok, call it even,” he said closing the cupboard doors and pulling her away from the disappointing emptiness of the kitchen. “I thought we could go to the pub anyway,” he quickly fabricated, although he visibly winced at the thought of spending more money on dinner. _Good job he’d got that cancellation fee_ he thought, immediately cursing inwardly, acknowledging that he had a strange relationship when it came to parting with money.

Rowena pretended not to notice the inner turmoil that had clouded Jimmy’s eyes, she had heard him being referred to as Jimmy Led-Wallet, which made her chuckle to herself. Well he was getting paid a darn sight more than she was, so she felt that a couple of dinners should help to redress the balance.

“That sounds wonderful,” she beamed. “I could eat two of everything!” She added ducking her head and sneaking a glance up at Jimmy’s face from beneath her hair. His pretty face had taken on a somewhat strangled appearance and she couldn’t help but to laugh out loud, quickly disguising it as a cough, that really didn’t fool either of them. Jimmy realised he was being played and swiped at her as she leapt out of his grasp towards the front door, donning her coat and openly giggling.

“You have as much as you like my dear,” he joked, as he slung his own jacket over his shoulders and picked up a bunch of keys and his worn leather wallet. They left the boathouse and headed up the road to the pub, walking side by side between the puddles of warm orange light from the street-lamps overhead.


	9. Magick & Moonlight

The pub was gently busy for a Saturday evening. Low oak beams and dark floorboards, thick candles dripping wax on each table and an odd collection of mismatched floor lamps helped to illuminate and accentuate the higgledy piggledy nature of the building. It was certainly cosy and a scent of very old timber soaked in centuries of ale and whispering of stories from patrons past gave a comforting feeling of solidity to the pub, it had been there for a very long time.

Jimmy went to order some food and a couple of drinks at the bar whilst Rowena sought out somewhere for them to sit. She chose a couple of deep armchairs tucked into the shadows, picked out by candle light and with a good vantage point across the pub. She enjoyed people watching and as she sunk into the worn leather armchair she caught sight of Jimmy at the bar. He was slightly leaning down onto the lowish counter, folding his limbs awkwardly as if he hadn’t gotten used to them or quite grown into them yet. He was chatting away to the pretty young barmaid as she poured drinks and wrote something down onto the notepad that she pulled from her apron. Tearing the paper from its book she folded it and handed it to Jimmy with a smile and a light giggle. Rowena felt a pang in her chest as her cheeks flushed, her pulse quickening and she felt its pressure rise to her ears. She looked away feeling embarrassed and something else, something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on in that heated, flustered moment.

Jimmy picked up the two glasses from the bar top and scanned the room looking for Rowena. She came to her senses and waved at him from the shadows. Jimmy gave a tiny nod of recognition and proceeded to lope over to her, surprisingly without spilling the drinks. He set a couple of large glasses of red wine down onto the low table next to the candle.

“I didn’t see you hiding in the shadows here,” he smiled and placing his palms on either side of the adjacent armchair he lowered himself down. “Good spot. We can keep an eye on everyone from here.” He grinned, glancing back towards the bar, although the barmaid’s back was turned as she dispensed spirits into tumblers from the optics mounted on the wall.

“Cheers,” he said, turning to Rowena and raising his glass, his long fingers spread around the bowl of the glass, pale skin contrasting with the deep Burgundy of the wine.

“Cheers,” she said, slightly reticently as she raised her glass and eyes to his.

“Thank you for coming to Pangbourne today,” he said softly after they had both taken a few sips and set their glasses back onto the table. “I’m sorry it hasn’t been particularly well organised. I had hoped to show you the village. Maybe take the launch out..”

Rowena smiled, feeling the warmth of the wine under Jimmy’s gaze, confusion still muddling through her emotions as he spoke to her with what felt like sincerity. He had invited her here, practically kidnapped her on his motorbike and they were now sharing a second round of food and drink in as many evenings. 

“Well thank you for inviting me,” she replied, mentally quashing the butterflies in her stomach, taking a large gulp of wine for good measure and setting about enjoying her evening with the mysterious Mr Page, he was good company after all for a fellow music bore.

~*~

They continued to talk about music, about art and about literature. Rowena found that Jimmy was incredibly well read and he seemed to have a fascination for detail and layers. Layers of history and layers of meaning. The wine continued to flow, loosening Jimmy’s tongue and he began to tell Rowena something curious about a man that he was reading and becoming interested in. Jimmy started by describing him as a poet, a painter, a novelist, a mountaineer, although Rowena sensed he was holding back on fully revealing who this man really was. Jimmy was staring intensely at her, trying to gauge her reaction to his descriptions. Rowena gazed back with curiosity, the wine swirling through her mind, giving her a sense of lightheaded surrealism as she sat with Jimmy, his face flickering in the candle light as he tried to tell her something that she sensed was deeply important to him, possibly on the same level as his overt passion for music.

At that moment the barmaid came over with two plates of food, Jimmy opened the piece of paper that she had originally given him and handed it back to her. Rowena could now clearly see it had their order scrawled across it and she let out a long breath of relief, followed by laughter at the absurdity of her own suspicion. She really needed to get a grip. The two of them began to tuck into their food, mostly steamed vegetables with a couple of roast potatoes and a slightly dry Yorkshire pudding in desperate need of gravy. It wasn’t a patch on Gianni’s food but she was too hungry to really be too bothered.

“Sorry Jimmy,” she said dabbing her lips with a napkin and sitting back from the food with her glass of wine. “You were describing this mountaineering poet..”

“Well, yes, I mean he’s not really famous for mountaineering and poetry as he perhaps is for other things,” Jimmy picked up, “well I suppose one could say he is a magician, of sorts.. that is to say ceremonial magic,” Jimmy blundered on, tripping over his own words, a blush coming to his cheeks. It was as though he were revealing some deep secret about his private fascinations, but wasn’t sure whether or not it made for polite conversation over the dinner table.

“Who are you talking about Jimmy?” Rowena asked, her confusion at Jimmy’s overly cryptic descriptions overlapping suddenly with an image of top hats and white rabbits causing her to laugh out loud, yet the description of the man sounded faintly familiar.

Jimmy bristled at her laughter but continued on his dogged trajectory “Aleister Crowley..” He said sombrely. 

“Crowley?!” Rowena repeated his name with astonishment. She had read about him too, somehow stumbling upon his works during part of her foray into some research on sacred and ceremonial architecture. “Sorry you completely had me going with magician, I would hardly call what he did suitable for a children’s tea party!” She laughed again, drowning her mirth with a deep swig of wine, before becoming serious as she caught the look on Jimmy’s face. “Yes, I’ve read Crowley,” she admitted. “It’s dark James, very dark,” she muttered, the laughter settling in her stomach and that sense of uneasiness coming over her again. Surely someone as bright and beautiful as James Page wasn’t falling for something so dark and frankly messed up as the occult.

Jimmy noticed the, now almost familiar, shadows cloud across Rowena’s eyes, he was astounded that she’d even heard of Crowley, let alone read his work. But he sensed she was uneasy about discussing it.

“He has a very interesting take on truth and will, you know.. destiny. There are much greater factors at play, I just find it fascinating,” he admitted, the blush falling from his cheeks. 

When Rowena had picked him out on stage at the Marquee a few nights ago with his frilly shirtsleeves as a virtuoso from another age, she realised she had barely scratched the surface with this thought. Jimmy was an incredibly deep thinker, he had so many facets that he was drawing from, she was so deeply intrigued by him.

Their conversation turned to lighter topics, Crowley seemingly being left in the shadows for now. They finished picking at their food, after having a second glass of wine, following which Jimmy decided he would have a whiskey to round the evening off. Rowena made do with the dregs of her wine glass, not really caring too much for the strong burn of the barrel-aged liquor.

~*~

They stumbled out into the cool night air, the spring breeze causing Rowena to pull her jacket more tightly around her and Jimmy huddled into his long herringbone overcoat. They began to walk back down the road towards the Boathouse and Jimmy, noticed her shiver slightly and looking for an excuse, put his arm around Rowena.

“Must be careful of the highway men you know,” he said giggling slightly from the whiskey he had consumed.

“What highway men?” she asked, sensing another tall story from Jimmy.

“That’s why it’s called Shooters Hill!” he exclaimed as if this was a perfectly logical explanation requiring no further context. “Or so they say. After some incident, a dangerous highwayman tried to get away, attempting to cross the border into Oxfordshire,” he said pointing up the hill, roughly in the direction of Oxford, “and rather than trying to chase him on foot his pursuers shot at him. You know from this hill.”

Rowena laughed, not sure whether there was any real truth in this story. It seemed more like a tale from the tavern that was told to outsiders in a bid to make Pangbourne perhaps seem more interesting than it really was.

“I see,” she laughed skeptically.

“Don’t worry, I will protect you,” Jimmy said stumbling over his own long legs. His bid to protect Rowena partly a ruse to aid him from falling flat on his face.

“Yes, I can see that,” she said feeling more sober than she really was compared to Jimmy’s befuddled behaviour.

They arrived back at the boathouse and Jimmy fumbled the key into the lock, giggling at how tricky this task had become all of a sudden. Rowena smiled in the darkness, feeling a great warmth towards Jimmy that had been steadily growing since they had begun to spend more time together. Arriving back into the living room, Jimmy flipped some side lamps on and pulled Rowena under the blankets on the sofa, the coolness of the unheated boathouse pervading the air.

“I expect asking for a ride back into town is out of the question?” Rowena laughed.

“I think I would get stopped for being under the influence,” Jimmy replied, poking his long fingers through the loose knit of the blanket.

“That’s ok, I can get the train,” she said, inwardly groaning at the thought of getting all the way back from Paddington to her flat.

Jimmy wriggled under the blanket, trying to untangle his fingers to enable him to glance at his wristwatch.

“I think you’ve missed the last train,” he said, forcing an evenness to his voice, that he didn’t feel in the pit of his stomach. “They don’t run so late to and from Pangbourne.”

“Oh!” Rowena replied, suddenly losing command of her words, her heartbeat quickening in her chest at the thought of staying over at Jimmy’s boathouse.

“This place has lots of bedrooms, I’m sure I can find some clean sheets and make you up a bed?” Jimmy smiled at her.

“Oh! Ok, thank you,” Rowena forced herself to return the smile, feeling slightly disappointed as she had begun to imagine sharing Jimmy’s warmth on this cool spring night. She shook her head, wondering what on earth was coming over her. She suddenly felt a very strong desire to be close to Jimmy.

“Come on, let’s go and investigate,” Jimmy said standing up from the sofa, bringing Rowena with him.

He lead her up the dark staircase to the first floor landing and into what appeared to be the master bedroom. The pitch of the roof fell sharply to the edges of the room and a porthole window threw a small shaft of moonlight across the floor, the river danced outside way below their perch up in the attic of the boathouse. It felt safe and cosy.

“I’ve been staying in here,” Jimmy said, motioning towards the large double bed that was surprisingly neatly made up with down duvets and plush pillows. “You get the first light of day through the porthole. It’s a really wonderful way to wake up.”

“I bet,” Rowena replied, peering out of the circular window, catching a glimpse of the whispering trees on the riverbank below, bathed in silver, they seemed to be sharing secrets.

“Why don’t you stay in here?” Jimmy asked, suddenly standing close behind her. Sharing her view of the lightly dancing trees dipping their fronds into the water below their sighing boughs. “I can make up a bed on the sofa,” he said nodding to a rather small two seater draped in more floral throws and tucked deep into the eaves. 

Rowena was doubtful that he could fit onto that sofa without being folded at least twice in half. Really she should take the sofa, being much smaller, she turned to him to deliver her suggestion and found herself looking up into his deep green eyes. She stopped. Still. And looked at him, really looked at him, at how the moonlight bathed his cheeks, making them seem so soft and smooth, a pink blush forming that colour matched the rose of his lips, his dark curly hair almost blending into the shadows of the room, but highlighted and shimmering in the moonlight. 

“I..” Rowena started, her mouth seemingly disconnected from her mind that had become blissfully and serenely blank, caught up in that pure moment of being, just being in Jimmy’s stilling presence.

Jimmy sensed her connection to him, the way her eyes had become viridescent pools, conveying a deepness that she appeared to be opening up to him. Her mouth had become still, soft, slightly open as her words seemed to die on her lips and within her whole being he sensed a longing. Jimmy imperceptibly closed the space between them, so softly, his eyes never leaving hers until suddenly he was there. Right there. She could feel his warmth radiating towards her skin, smell the whiskey on his breath and his eyes seeing her, like no other had seen so keenly before. Jimmy lifted his hand from the darkness and wrapping his long fingers under her jawline he stroked his thumb gently across her cheek, soft and pale under the midnight glow. Rowena froze at his touch. She held her breath, hardly daring to move, not wishing to break the spell. Jimmy’s thumb moved to the fullness of her lower lip and he stroked across the smooth vermillion curve of her mouth, the only colour that seemed to penetrate the silver of the moonlight. He cast his eyes down to watch the movement of his own thumb and in the next few seconds time to Rowena appeared to stand still. She swallowed involuntarily, watching Jimmy lick his lips, his eyes returning to hers, catching her watching him, waiting, she saw the faintest of smirks pass across his face before he closed the final infinitesimal expanse between them.

As Jimmy’s soft wet lips closed around hers Rowena’s senses awoke. Her body snapped into being. Her mind rushed with the colours of her own emotion, blushing rose and sunset hues, fizzing and bubbling, unleashing a torrent of pounding pinks and screaming crimson. Her heart hammered a tattoo inside her ribcage, blood rushed to the surface of her skin, fine hairs standing up on end and an electric shiver rushed down her spine. Jimmy felt the colour in her lips through their kiss, his hand on her spine he felt her shudder under his touch. Her response to him was overwhelming and he deepened the kiss, holding her shaking body against his heat, he had never felt such a profound response. He could feel her thoughts and desires, he could sense the future and it felt like magick.


	10. Golden Glow

Rowena felt the warmth of early morning sun as it fell across her cheek, the brightness of the rays keeping her eyes closed against the comfortable golden feeling. She snuggled down into her duvet, recalling a vivid dream she’d been having. Her cheeks blushed at the thought of it, of Jimmy, again, always Jimmy pervading her dreams. Dreams. _Was it a dream_ , she mused lucidly, it felt more real than a dream, she smiled and turned over, away from the sunlight and her eyes blinked lazily open. A dark mop of hair fell across the pillow next to her. This wasn’t her bed. She wasn’t at home. Again she felt that sensation of her breath being held within her, as she came to and realised that her dream was not so much a fantasy.

She had spent the night with Jimmy, she sighed, and what a night it had been. Relaxing back into the pillows Rowena stared up at the ceiling and gently delved into her recollections of the night before. She closed her eyes and immediately her vision was filled with Jimmy. His eyes, his nose, his lips, his fingers, his voice, so soft and loving as he had whispered to her beneath the covers. She felt as though she had known him for an eternity in that moment when they connected, finally releasing a tension that she hadn’t even know existed. He made her feel heady and light, raw and open, alive and hungry in a way she had never felt before. Her breathing caught at this visceral recollection and she heard a gentle moan next to her as Jimmy awoke.

Her eyes opened and she saw Jimmy, again. His face, slightly puffy from sleep, shadows falling across his cheeks from his dark unruly curls, he looked so innocent and beautiful not yet awake enough for a smile to gloss his lips.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“G’morning,” he replied sleepily. The warm bloom of contentment spread across the buds of his lips as he snaked his body closer to her.

Rowena found herself in his arms, her body curving into his as he greeted her with a soft kiss to her forehead.

“I was just thinking about last night,” she admitted, settling her head against his shoulder, his hair tickling her face.

“Oh, were you now,” she heard the smirk in his voice. “And what exactly were you thinking?”

“I don’t know if I can explain it,” she said. “It was something I felt.” She was unsure of divulging the intensity of her feelings incase it had been her imagination or a conjurer's illusion. She feared feeling foolish.

Jimmy propped himself onto his elbow, allowing her head to rest back into the cushions and he lifted her chin with his long index finger and looked into her eyes.

“I felt it too,” he replied sincerely. He smoothed her hair back from her face and allowed his hand to travel along the curve of her neck, feeling as though he was at the beginning of an endless journey to learning her body. He had a desire to master it with the same knowing he felt whenever he played his music. Every vibration and harmonic, every sweet bend and slide and sometimes, sometimes a chord to evoke a sound he had never heard before but it was something of his creation that to him, transcended beauty.

Rowena hadn’t had many romantic encounters, the odd drunken tumble following a studio recording afterparty that was more often than not immediately regretted and then quickly forgotten. Jimmy was a contrast, so sensual, he made her feel like a goddess. Under his touch every inch of her body felt worshiped. Rowena was lost in her own thoughts as Jimmy's fingers traced patterns across her bare skin.

“I’ve never met anyone quite like you Miss Rowena,” he said, taking her hand and softly kissing her finger tips.

“It’s funny,” she smiled, “I feel like you almost know me more than I know myself. Which is ridiculous,” she laughed. “There are definitely things you don’t know about me,” a momentary shadow passing over her bright green eyes.

Jimmy didn’t see this shadow as he pulled her close to his chest

“I want to know everything about you,” he murmured into her soft curls, the warmth of his breath releasing the scent of roses from her locks.

He turned her to face him, both of their hearts pounding as he leaned in and covered her mouth tenderly with his soft warm lips.

Rowena had never felt so filled up by anyone before in her whole life. Jimmy had pervaded her thoughts and was the master of her emotions. She could taste him on her lips as he kissed her sweetly and then more deeply. She could hear him humming as his mouth skimmed across her skin, brushing her earlobe and tracing her neck. She opened her eyes and all she could see was Jimmy. Jimmy’s face, his emerald greens gazing into hers, softened by his own arousal. She could smell his scent as she grabbed fist-fulls of his dark curls. Every nerve in her body was on fire with his touch as she felt him move her, within her, beside her, on top of her, beneath her.

She wanted to scream with all that he was making her feel and that time, when it came, shattered her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers. Sorry, not sorry that this chapterette was so sweet and cheesy, but I feel we all needed it. Sigh. Jimmy.. He is a dark lord but also the sweetest delight. 🖤


	11. Buttered Fingers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buttered Finger is a working title - please, someone send help!

Rowena watched as Jimmy threw a dark grey knitted cardigan on over his bare chest and black boxers, he glanced back to her and she dropped her gaze, feeling voyeuristic.

“Enjoying the view?” Jimmy asked with the trace of a smirk, as he loped over to the side of the bed, leaning down to claim a kiss, his hair tumbling over Rowena’s face as she stretched up to meet his lips.

“I’ve never seen anyone look so good in a cardigan and pants,” she replied, smiling into Jimmy’s mouth as he tried not to get carried away with their kiss.

Jimmy stood back up, a grin plastered across his face, clearly enjoying the compliment. He knew with a guitar in his hands he was impressive, he knew when he dressed for the stage he had eyes on him, but for Rowena to see beauty in him as he paraded around in his underwear he felt a swell of pride and confidence bloom in his chest.

“Well I think you could give me a run for my money,” he replied, throwing a spare cardigan to her from an open suitcase on the floor.

Rowena laughed and pulled the soft woollen garment on over her own bare chest, it smelled like Jimmy.

“Now who’s enjoying the view?” She laughed, blushing slightly at the way Jimmy was looking at her. “I thought you were going to make tea?”

“Don’t go anywhere,” he replied seriously. “I will be right back.”

Jimmy left the room and Rowena heard his light footsteps rushing down the stairs, almost tripping over themselves in his haste to return. She smiled to herself, closing her eyes and listening to the birdsong outside the window. The sun had risen in the hours that she and Jimmy had spent talking, kissing, sighing and making love together and there was a warmth in the light as it fell into the room and across her exposed chest. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt happier, more peaceful, more satisfied. Her lips were swollen from Jimmy’s desire to kiss her through the night and into the early hours of the morning. Her skin felt raw from Jimmy’s touch and her legs ached as she had embraced him over and over, trying to control herself against his unyielding fervour.

Sometime later Jimmy poked his head around the bedroom door.

“Oh good, you’re still here,” he grinned.

Rowena laughed as he slunk into the room, a tray of tea, toast and the Sunday paper stacked and balanced in his hands. Jimmy set the tray on the bed and wriggled under the duvet, his icy feet making contact with her warm legs and making her gasp. Jimmy chuckled. Moving closer, he slipped his cool hands into the sides of her borrowed cardigan. Before she could cry out from the shock of the cold against her heated skin he covered her mouth with his lips. He pressed heat into her as he simultaneously stole it with his fingers feeling the taught softness of her skin that gave way to curves under the folded knit of the fabric. Once his hands had warmed a little and he felt she could be trusted not to cry out he removed his lips from hers and laid a soft trail of kisses down the side of her neck, all the while his fingers continuing to explore, moving fast and light as if he were playing something delicate and acoustic. He reached the collar of the cardigan with his lips and licking them gently he traced the button lined edge until the material fell away, exposing her to him. He watched momentarily as her breathing became heavy and her strong fingers twined deeper into his curls. His attraction to her was magnetic, he couldn’t get enough of the moans and sighs that he could illicit from her lips as he kissed her, held her, tasted her, brought her to the edge and left her teetering, craving release. Behind him the teacups clinked urgently on the tray causing him to smile into her skin, feeling suddenly devious. He proceeded to run his tongue across the fullness of her breast before sitting back up and slowly, gently buttoning the cardigan over the deep rise and fall of her chest as she stared at him in both amusement and horror. Propped on his elbow he reached down and picked up one of the bone china cups from the tray.

“Mustn’t let your tea go cold,” he said handing her the cup.

“Quite,” she replied raising an eyebrow as she took a sip. Any game that James Page could play she knew she could play so much better.

They chatted over their tea, Jimmy making crumbs on the duvet as he nibbled at the buttered toast, simultaneously trying to open the broadsheet newspaper without knocking the cup from Rowena’s hands. She held onto one edge of the paper as they both craned over the print, butter dripping onto the the page from Jimmy’s absent mindedly poised slice.

“You can’t be trusted,” she said swiping the toast and taking a huge bite.

“Cheeky!” He said looking up into her defiant gaze. “I was enjoying that!” He said wrestling the toast back off her.

“Well we can’t stay in bed all day. I thought you were going to show me the river?”

“Mmm that’s true,” he mused as he slowly licked the melted butter that was running between his long fingers.

Feeling flustered at the site of Jimmy’s tongue between his own fingers, Rowena threw back the duvet and got out of bed. She began stretching and bending her body in the warmth of the sun’s rays, her lace knickers, cupping her cheeks, peeked out from underneath Jimmy’s cardigan as she bent to touch her toes, feeling as if she’d been cocooned for an age. Now it was Jimmy’s turn to gawp as she turned in the sun, as graceful and enchanting as a tiny ballerina in a music box, he thought of the beautifully carved casket that his mother used to keep on her dressing table.

Rowena pulled a fresh towel from Jimmy’s suitcase, picked up one of his clean shirts that was bursting with a floral pattern (perhaps he did have more in common with the old lady who owned the boathouse than she initially thought) and wandered off in search of a hot shower.

“Do you need any help?” Jimmy called after her.

“No thank you James,” her voice floated back up the stairs, echoing off the bathroom tiles. “I’ve been bathing myself successfully for a couple of decades now, I think I can manage.”

Jimmy collapsed back into the cushions grinning as he heard the thumb-turn lock of the bathroom door on the floor below. His hands behind his head he began to regret re-buttoning Rowena’s cardigan whilst simultaneously wondering when the next available opportunity would present itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this! So concludes the epic bedroom scene, for now.. Leave me a comment, I love reading them 😊🖤 Tangerine-Page x


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